


there's a trick with a knife (i'm learning to do)

by mellyflori



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Come for the smut, Dirty Talk, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M, One Night Stands, Slow Burn, and lack the patience to wait until i'm finished and post as a one-shot, if you've been okay with my smut in the past, less of a slow burn and more like two idiots standing around on fire, only not so much, stay for the way Joe almost swallows his tongue, story is fully written I'm just editing in chunks, when he finds out Nicky's a kindergarten teacher, you'll be okay with this one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-15 08:47:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 65,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29186520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mellyflori/pseuds/mellyflori
Summary: An involuntary shudder runs down Nicky’s spine. He’d been doing so well.So well.The problem, of course, is that Nicky, like all people, has weaknesses, and articulate confidence is one of them. Perhaps that accounts for what he says next.“Prove it.”
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 1435
Kudos: 1064





	1. i have words that do not come from childrens' books

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes I try to write things with evocative phrasing or intricate plots. Sometimes I write stuff where peoples' internal monologues get the better of them and there are dick jokes. Guess which one this is.
> 
> As usual, the whole thing is written, I just edit in chunks and post as it's edited. Updates should be every two or three days. I love and treasure feedback in all forms (kudos, comments, flailing on tumblr or discord, carrier pigeons, happy thoughts, whatever) and I love interacting with readers, but really I just hope you guys like it.
> 
> I encourage you to please reach out to me either in a comment here or via tumblr (where I'm [werebearbearbar](https://werebearbearbar.tumblr.com)) if there are things in the story/smut you are concerned about or specifically want to avoid. I am always more than happy to answer questions. You could also just come say hi. I'd love to say I don't swear as much on there, but that would be a big ol' lie.

_I have eyes for you to give you dirty looks_  
_I have words that do not come from children's books_  
_there's a trick with a knife I'm learning to do_  
_And everything I've got belongs to you_

- _Blossom Dearie_

~

There is _something_ gluing his right boot to the floor. It’s really anyone’s guess as to what it might be. The sloshed about remnants of a failed experiment studying the effects of Brownian motion on tall shot-glasses full of mostly Goldschläger? Maybe. A kind of space-age polymer resulting from the chemical bonds between sweat, hair gel, and the dick-shaped face glitter worn by a horde of bridesmaids deciding to live it up? Unlikely, but sadly not impossible.

Whatever its origins, Nicky has to tug harder than he’d like to free himself from this spot and find Booker by the bar.

Now he has to make a choice. Does the combined misery of the pain in his knees, the headache he’s getting from the music, and the irritation of randomly finding himself cemented to the club floor outweigh the unholy pile of shit his best friend will give him if he wants to go sit down.

_Fuck it. You’re thirty. You don’t have anything to prove to anyone anymore._

Nicky taps Booker on the shoulder and points upstairs. Nodding, Booker points back to the dance floor, where there’s a thin androgynous beauty with striking blue hair dancing in criminally tight jeans. He pats Booker’s arm in the international gesture for, “Please do keep trying to bag that one, it’s going to be so much fun to watch you get shot down.”

Years ago, possibly on a dare, someone had the bright idea to put an old couch in one corner of the loft space in this building. Nicky always assumed some ambitious mad scientist brought the other couches when he found he needed more space for his fungi and bacteria experiments. Ostensibly this is the VIP section, but given the likelihood of catching something just from sitting on the furniture, it’s been years since Nicky and his best friend called the it anything but ‘the HPV section.’

This doesn’t stop Nicky from flopping back into one of the couches, taking advantage of the extremely thin crowd to sprawl a bit.

Dropping his head back to rest on the couch, Nicky closes his eyes. Sometime later, could be ten seconds, could be an hour, someone kicks his foot as they walk in front of him. Nicky doesn’t open his eyes, but he does pull his legs in close to the couch. “Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. Clearly, you needed to sit there with your legs wide open taking up three peoples’ worth of space.”

Nicky smirks, but doesn't open his eyes. “Well, with a dick as big as mine, sometimes you must give it room to breathe.” All he gets in reply is a disgusted snort.

A few minutes later, there’s another kick against his boot, this one accompanied by a familiar voice.

“What’s the matter with you?” Booker nudges Nicky’s toe, sinking into the couch opposite him.

“You didn’t have to come up here.”

“I had to see what you’re whining about.”

Nicky scowls at him. “I’m too old to spend weeknights at a club. All I can think about are all the parts of me that will hurt in the morning.”

“Long day?”

“Too much time on my knees.”

Booker snorts. Unexpectedly, so does the guy one couch over. It’s the same derisive snort Nicky got in reply to his earlier comment. He flicks a glance in that direction.

Well. This is an unexpected development. The guy isn’t bad looking, for a complete fashion disaster. Nicky has commentary to provide about every single thing the guy is wearing, starting with the shoes and working his way up, but the face and body are pure art.

“Is there a reason you’re staring?” asks the stranger.

“No,” Nicky says. “Not one reason.” There are at least three reasons—his eyes, arms, and mouth—but this guy doesn’t need to know that.

“But you do admit you were staring.”

Nicky snorts and looks back at Booker. He’s being a bit of a jerk, and he knows it, he’s just not sure why. There’s no reason for Nicky to be this belligerent with a stranger. It’s just a bad night after a long day, and this guy kicked him instead of saying excuse me, and Nicky really just wanted to get laid. Is that too much to ask?

“Nicky, if you’re too old to go clubbing on weeknights, then why the hell are you here on a Thursday?”

“Sometimes I’m just in the mood to go out and find someone to not talk to for the rest of the night.”

“You’re just the soul of romance, aren’t you?”

Nicky closes his eyes again, flipping Booker rude hand gestures from at least three countries. “I’m going to finish my drink and go home.”

From the other couch, Nicky hears a voice muttering.

“Did you have something to say?” he asks the sartorial cautionary tale.

“Nope.” There’s a little extra pop in the ‘p’ just for spice. Or spite. It could go either way. Well, at least Nicky doesn’t have to feel bad about being the only asshole in this conversation now. “Just thinking it’s a good thing you’re going home, so some poor sucker doesn’t end up taking a chance on a guy whose knees hurt too bad for him to show them a good time.”

“Yes, instead I’ll leave them in the capable hands of someone who doesn’t think it’s important to keep up with modern advances.”

The guy looks almost amused. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Only that it's clear from your outfit that you’re saying new-fangled styles and customs are for lesser beings. I admire that confidence. The way your whole presence proclaims you’ll keep those jeans and that half-assed finger-banging technique, and everyone else can fuck off.”

“Or maybe it says that I’ve spent all my time focusing on the things that truly matter because I know someone who’s been fucked so hard they’ve forgotten how to speak won’t have anything to say about my clothes.”

“Of course you have.”

The guy stares directly at Nicky, not breaking eye contact.

An involuntary shudder runs down Nicky’s spine. He’d been doing so well. _So well._ The problem, of course, is that Nicky, like all people, has weaknesses, and articulate confidence is one of them. Perhaps that accounts for what he says next.

“Prove it.”

“I thought you were on your way home.”

“I live across the street.”

The guy stands. “Good, we won’t have to _not_ make awkward conversation in the Uber.”

Nicky probably ought to consider why he’s going home with someone who, at this point, is an irritatingly attractive jackass and nothing more. Instead, he’s halfway to the door before he hears Booker’s laughing voice call out, “Goodnight to you too, Nico.”

Five minutes after the door closes behind them, there is a trail of clothing and shoes from the door to Nicky’s enormous bed. This should be the point where the evening devolves into gasps and clutching hands and the thrum of arousal. It should be, but somehow this guy still has one sock on. Nicky starts laughing.

Mr. One Sock cocks an eyebrow at Nicky.

“Sorry. Sorry, you’ve just—” Nicky’s collapsed into snorting laughter. “Sock.”

Irritated, the guy pulls his sock off and attempts to throw it across the room. It somehow manages to fall directly into the glass of water Nicky keeps on his bedside table. He starts laughing again but gets only a scowl in return.

“You and that mouth have been pissing me off for more than an hour. What do I need to do to shut you up?”

“Don’t look at me,” Nicky shrugs. “You’re the one who said you could fuck someone so well they’d lose the power of speech.”

Propped on one elbow, the guy stares at Nicky like he’s trying to decode the hidden message behind Nicky’s eyes. “Joe,” he says.

Nicky frowns. “What?”

“By the time I’m finished, you should have just enough presence of mind to plead and shout my name. So I thought I’d let you know what it is now. This way, you won’t have to awkwardly ask in the moment.”

Nicky feels like he’s been hard for hours. 

“Are you going to get to it sometime soon, or should I go get snacks for while I’m waiting?”

“I can leave, and you can just stay here and fuck yourself.”

“But then I’ll have won.”

In fact, no matter what happens, Nicky wins. If Joe leaves, Nicky gets to say he wasn’t up to it; if Joe stays, Nicky gets a blowjob. Joe didn’t think this out as carefully as he could have.

A smug remark to that effect is poised on Nicky’s tongue, ready to go, but just before he speaks, Joe’s mouth closes around the head of his cock, and every word vanishes from Nicky’s mind like a popped soap bubble.

He wants to make a smartass comment about how he should have stayed at the club, but all that comes out is, “Hnnnk--” Nicky starts keeping a list of things he’d rather do than admit Joe was right—chewing broken glass, listening to his cousin talk about stock trading, over-the-phone tech support for his mother.

Words. Nicky needs his words back. Oh no. What if they all come back at once, and he does something stupid like declaring his undying devotion for this asshole and his magic tongue?

In an effort to keep that from happening, Nicky tries to stuff his fist in his mouth, but his fingers won’t curl right, and he ends up patting at his face. Great, his fine motor skills are gone.

What the hell is Joe doing with his hand? Is it the way he’s twisting it on the upstroke? Is it the fact that he’s being so sloppy with his mouth that his hand is wet and just slipping along Nicky’s shaft? Fuck, maybe it’s the way he combines his downstroke with a swipe of his tongue so Nicky can feel it lick across the exposed head as the skin pulls back.

Nicky’s still doesn’t have any words, and he’s hearing a high-pitched tone, which means he’s probably losing his hearing as well. His concentration is hanging on by its fingernails to keep Joe from realizing he’s destroying Nicky’s higher brain functions.

Joe somehow manages to laugh with the head of Nicky’s dick snaking down his throat. What the hell is so funny?

Oh.

 _Nicolò, you idiot,_ he thinks. _Your hearing is fine. That high-pitched whining noise is just you._

This is bad.

At a conservative estimate, Nicky could have come within thirty seconds of feeling Joe’s mouth around him. He could also have come at any one of a dozen points in the approximately twelve years since then. Perhaps he’s exaggerating. Perhaps it only feels like twelve years because Joe keeps waiting until just the point where Nicky’s balls start to draw up and then backing off.

Nicky likes edging as much as the next guy, but he’s started devising ways to kill Joe if he doesn’t hurry the hell up.

The next time Joe backs off, Nicky’s words finally come back. Unfortunately, the words he picks to say are, “No no no no no! Come on!”

He can just imagine his dignity staring at him from across the room. It’s not angry, it’s just disappointed, and everyone knows that’s worse.

Again, Joe somehow laughs around Nicky’s cock, and the vibration is enough to have his back bowing off the bed, his heels digging into the sheets, and his teeth clenched around a desperate-sounding hiss.

Joe pulls off Nicky’s cock, looking up at him. His hand, slick with his own saliva, he keeps stroking as he says, “Now surely you’re not--”

Whatever witty bon mot Joe had planned is overcome by events as the sound of his voice hits Nicky like a velvet-gloved slap. That, combined with the continued tight strokes from his hand, has Nicky choking on a surprised shout and coming so hard his entire upper body tries to curl in on itself; his shoulders aren’t even touching the bed anymore.

The only person more surprised than Nicky to find himself shooting off in Joe’s hand is Joe who is so surprised he doesn’t back away fast enough, and the first shot catches him precisely in the corner of his left eye.

Nicky’s dignity is never going to speak to him again.

Joe, seemingly at a loss for better ways to contain the damage, slams his eyes shut and puts his mouth back over the head of Nicky’s cock, swallowing the rest. Staying there until Nicky stops twitching through aftershocks is a kindness Nicky doesn’t deserve.

Looking around for something to rinse his eye out, Joe scowls at the glass with his sock floating in it. Nicky does the best he can, handing Joe a tissue.

When Joe collapses onto the pillow next to Nicky’s, his left eye is still a little bloodshot. “Are you going to apologize?”

“For what? You’re the one who was controlling the aim at that point.”

“I could say ‘fuck you’ and storm out, but I think instead, you’re going to make it up to me.”

“Oh, am I?”

“I made good on my promise-”

“I’m still capable of speech.”

“Sure, _now_. Do you want my impression of what you sounded like five minutes ago?”

Nicky really doesn’t.

“That’s what I thought. So you got off, and you got it in my eye. Time to beg my forgiveness.”

“Why should I care about your forgiveness?”

“Fine. We can call it a chance for you to prove you’re better than I am at this.”

Nicky’s, “I am definitely better than you,” is muffled by the mouthful of Joe’s chest he’s sunk his teeth into after staring at it for, really, as long as could have been expected. Longer, in fact. He should be commended for his restraint in not doing this in the hall while unlocking the door.

Joe grips him by the hair and pulls his head back until he’s looking into Nicky’s eyes. “See, you say that, but I’ve got no reason to believe you.” There’s a clicking sound as Nicky swallows. “Put that mouth to use somewhere lower, and keep at it until people start forwarding your mail to you in care of my dick.”

Nicky could argue, could protest being ordered around, but he wants to put his mouth on this guy’s ass so bad his jaw aches.

“Shower first,” Nicky says

Joe gestures to the bathroom as though he’s indicating the location to an honored guest instead of being an impossibly sexy, very mouthy pest who’s here for what should have been a quickie. “After you.”

It’s an exceptionally long shower, given how badly they both want to get back to what they were up to in bed. There are soap-slick hands ‘accidentally’ slipping down, over, into, and between whatever they can find.

Back in the bed, the cool air of the room hits their haphazardly dried skin, and Nicky breaks out in goosebumps. Joe stretches out beside him, gesturing to the erection he’s somehow managed to keep this entire time. “I didn’t get undressed for fun.”

Nicky settles himself between Joe’s thighs, happy to be in a position where his knees won’t be killing him.” You didn’t ‘get undressed’ at all. I undressed you because I couldn’t stand to look at that hideous shirt for a second longer.” He hooks Joe’s right leg over his shoulder. “Are you always this mouthy?”

“I supposed you could try distracting me with something even vaguely resembling technique.”

Nicky cocks one eyebrow. “Joe.”

“What?”

“That’s your name. By the time I’m done, you’ll have forgotten it, so I wanted to remind you now rather than having you awkwardly ask me later.”

“Please tell me that mouth is good for something other than — fuck! Ah!” anything else Joe might want to say is lost to history.

There are things Nicky lives in fear of his mother or sisters finding out, some just because they’d tease him, like the fact that he still keeps one of his youngest sister’s baby teeth, but some because they’d never look at him the same way again. Right at the top of that second list is how much Nicky _loves_ doing this specific thing.

He doesn’t have to think or plan or worry that he’s said the wrong thing; he just needs to keep kissing and licking and sucking until Joe makes a sound like he’s swallowed his own tongue. Repeat as necessary until Joe sounds like he might be sobbing, then get his hand and mouth around Joe’s cock until Joe begs him to stop. And means it.

It’s a little surprising to feel his cock twitch with interest as Joe starts moaning, hands clutching at his thighs. Though, not as surprising as finding himself grinding against the bed in response to Joe saying his name, quietly, over and over. He wasn’t sure Joe even _knew_ his name. Who tries to fuck himself into the bed just from hearing his own name?

The way he says it, though, voice still a little wrecked from taking Nicky’s cock so far, somewhere between a whisper and his normal speaking volume, takes Nicky apart. Voices like this are for three a.m. confessions and quiet declarations. You use this voice when you know you needn’t shout, because the other person is always listening for your words. Nicky feels some critical part of himself sink into this moment in a way he hadn't been before. He grinds himself into the sheets again.

Just “Nicky,” turns to, “Nicky, I want—,” turns to “Nicky, I need!” Breaking with his usual progression, Nicky props himself up on his elbows, rubbing his thumbs over the inside of Joe’s thighs. When he looks up, Joe is staring back, eyes liquid in the dark room.

“What do you need, baby?”

In that same quiet voice, Joe says, “I don’t—I don’t know. Your mouth more. Something. I don’t—Don’t stop.” His hands are twisting in the sheets now, and Nicky can see the sweat on his forehead.

Nicky goes back to precisely what he was doing, but with one hand wrapped around Joe’s shaft, letting the seemingly involuntary rocking of Joe’s hips drive him up into that Nicky’s slick, tight grip. He’s barely licking into Joe, tongue flicking over his rim when Joe’s balls draw tight to his groin, and he sighs, wordlessly, just once. It’s a close thing, Nicky almost doesn’t make it in time, but he manages to drop his mouth over the head of Joe’s cock in time for Joe to spill across his tongue.

The sound of Joe’s sigh, the taste of him, the feel of his sweat-damp skin under Nicky’s hands, is all just a little too much. Nicky fucks himself against the sheets twice more and comes so hard he sees stars.

When the noise in his head starts up again, Nicky is almost startled. Everything had gone so quiet for a while. By the time Nicky comes back from the bathroom with a glass of water and a warm washcloth, Joe has recovered enough to swab himself clean and drink half the glass in one gulp.

Joe flops back onto the pillow. “Ten minutes.”

“Sure.”

“And I’ll do you the favor of putting those jeans in the trash on my way out.”

“I’m supposed to take fashion advice from someone who wears canvas shoes to a club like he’s just _begging_ to have his Chucks smell like Jaeger bombs forever?”

“You can keep that sock as a memento.”

Nicky pulls the sheet over himself, sliding his hands under the pillow and getting comfortable. “Piss off,” he says with a benevolent, satisfied smile.

“Ten minutes.”

When Nicky wakes up, the sun is stabbing its way through a gap in the curtains, and he’s alone in bed.

> From: Ellie the Angel
> 
> still coming for family dinner on Saturday, right?

> From: Nicky
> 
> Of course.

> From: Ellie the Angel
> 
> T and his fam will be here at 5

> From: Nicky
> 
> Then I’ll pick up Bianca, and we’ll be there by 4:30.

> From: Ellie the Angel
> 
> can u make B wear something besides an old band tee?

> From: Nicky
> 
> None of us can _make_ Bianca do anything, but I’ll try.

When Nicky arrives at his baby sister’s dorm to pick her up, she’s wearing a pretty embroidered top and jeans without holes. He almost says something, but he’s too busy staring at her feet.

“You own shoes that aren’t sandals?”

“I got them for today. For El.”

Nicky has seen his sisters get into vicious screaming matches about everything under the sun, but they’re a united front when it comes to anyone outside the family. Elena’s been worried about this dinner for weeks, worried that her new fiancé’s family wouldn’t like hers, and Bianca knew it.

He wraps an arm around her shoulders and kisses the top of her head. 

Because they both know Elena is pacing somewhere, they make it to the house by 4:15. While everyone tries to make it to family dinners whenever they can, Elena had specifically asked that everyone be here today, so the house is loud. It’s loud in the way a house with six Italian women all in one kitchen can be. They’re all here, they’re all happy, they all still love each other. Nicky feels Bianca’s hand slip into his.

“You getting all choked up, weepy bastard?” He can’t help but grin at her, and yes, maybe the smile is a little watery.

The closer they get to the appointed hour, the more nervous Elena gets. Finally, at ten minutes before five, Nicky takes her by the shoulders and steers her into the hallway where they can have a little privacy. “What’s the worst that can happen?”

“They all decide they hate me?”

“You’ve been with Tarek for years; they know you already, and they love you. Try again.”

“They all hate all of us?”

“And will you and Tarek still get married?”

“Yes.”

“That’s all that matters. We love you, we love him, and you guys love each other. Everything else is just a bonus. I promise you, though, it’s going to be a perfect meal. You’ve planned for everything, and I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

She buries her face in his chest. “I love you, Nicolò.”

Tarek is hugging Elena almost before she has the door open. Nicky sees some of the tension drain from her face, and he thinks, not for the first time, that all his sisters deserve someone who loves them like this.

“I’ll introduce you to everyone else in the dining room, but this is my brother, Nicolò.” Ellie grips his arm like she’s brought him for show-and-tell. “Nicky, these are Tarek’s parents.” They exchange names, and Tarek’s father shakes his hand. Nicky risks a hug for Tarek’s mother, and she melts. Ellie looks thrilled. She indicates another woman, still standing on the stoop, probably not much younger than Ellie herself. “This is Anisa, Tarek’s sister, and I’m guessing—Tarek, where’s your brother?”

“Grabbing something from the car.” Tarek looks over his shoulder and smiles. “Hey, there you are. Come meet Ellie’s brother, Nicky.”

Sticking out his hand to shake, Nicky puts on his best smile. When he catches sight of the man he’s about to meet, Nicky prays that smile stays in place as he tries, and fails, not to picture this man’s mouth around his dick.

From across the room, Nicky can feel his dignity glaring at him. He’s earned this. He knows he has. This is what comes of thinking you have everything under control.

“Nicky,” Tarek says, “this is my best man, my brother Joe.”

_Well, shit._


	2. i have eyes for you to give you dirty looks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For full five seconds, Nicky stands there with his hand out waiting for Joe to shake it. Five seconds is a long time for silence to stretch out. After the first three, Nicky starts to feel like he’s just standing there while Joe stares at his hand like it’s on fire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for such an amazing response to this indulgent little fic! As always, if you have questions or concerns about anything that might or might not be in this, please feel free to reach out either here or on tumblr. 
> 
> It's time to see who can play nice around the dinner table and who can't! (They're a little hard on each other in this chapter, but it wouldn't be enemies-to-lovers without some strife.)

For full five seconds, Nicky stands there with his hand out waiting for Joe to shake it. Five seconds is a long time for silence to stretch out. After the first three, Nicky starts to feel like he’s just standing there with his dick in the wind while Joe stares at his hand like it’s on fire.

“Oooh. Shaking hands isn’t a good idea right now.”

Embarrassment crawls up the back of Nicky’s neck. “No problem.”

“In fact,” Joe turns to Nicky’s mother. “Mrs. di Genova, I apologize for making this our first interaction, but where is your bathroom?”

“I’ve got it, Mama.” Striding off down the hallway, Nicky doesn’t even stop to see if Joe is following him.

Without a word, Joe steps into the bathroom, looking startled when Nicky comes in after him and closes the door.

“What was that?” Nicky says, trying not to raise his voice. “You were happy to put your face on my dick on Thursday, but today you won’t even _shake my hand_?”

“If you could stop jumping to hysterical conclusions for half a second and _ask_ , I might have a chance to tell you that we stopped for gas on the way over, and the pump got it all over my hand. I was coming in here to wash them so I could go back out there and be nice to your family because _one of us_ has _manners._ ”

The soap Joe is using to wash his hands smells like coconut, just like the soap in Nicky’s shower. For a moment, all he can think of is that smell clinging to the smooth, warm skin on the inside of Joe’s thighs. Nicky’s dignity is giving him that look again.

“You could have said that out there. ‘I have something on my hand.’ Took me less than a second to say, but you decided to leave me standing there like an idiot while you—”

“While I tried to read the fucking situation and guess how you wanted to play this.”

Nicky can almost hear the announcement being broadcast. ‘Attention everyone, please watch as all of Nicky’s moral high ground is yanked out from under him, and he falls flat on his ass.’

“On that subject—”

Joe pulls a hand towel off the rack and stares at Nicky, one eyebrow raised. “Oh, I can’t wait to hear this.”

“While you’re doing your impression of a reasonable human being, could you not mention Thursday night?”

The look Joe shoots at Nicky should have a warning label on it. He can feel the top layer of his skin peeling off.

With the kind of deliberation and care that speaks of how hard he’s trying not to tear the towel in half, Joe folds it and hangs it back on the rack. He puts one hand on the doorknob before turning back to Nicky.

“Look, I’m not sure if you’re still in some kind of closet, or if you’re just some golden boy who doesn’t want his family knowing he eats ass on the first date, but I stopped letting guys treat me like an embarrassing secret halfway through high school. Don’t worry, though.” His stare is icy, to match his voice. “You’re in luck today because this evening is for Tarek and Elena. I love my brother; I love your sister too, and I’m not the kind of asshole who would hijack their engagement dinner with my interpersonal drama.” He smirks at Nicky. “Regardless of how much fun it might be to see the fallout.”

He yanks the door open so fast Nicky jerks backward and nearly lands in the sink. Standing there, alone in the bathroom, all Nicky can think is, ‘Surely that wasn’t a first date, was it?’

Walking into the living room, Nicky finds Joe hugging his mother and shaking hands with all of his sisters except Elena. To Elena, he says, “Hey, kiddo,” and wraps her up in the kind of hug that makes Nicky dig his fingernails into his palm just to keep from blurting out what a jerk Joe is once you get to know him.

As Nicky is trying to school his face into something calmer, Joe looks over Elena’s shoulder and sees him. “Hey, I owe you a handshake,” he says, charming and sincere as if their bathroom conversation was a figment of Nicky’s imagination. “My apologies for earlier. I had a gas pump decide to surprise me on the way over, and I didn’t want you to end up smelling like it, too.” He grins at Nicky and holds out his hand.

Some conditioned response must take over because Nicky feels Joe’s hand in his and has no memory of reaching out to take it. He’s busy trying to figure out how one grin can be simultaneously heart-stoppingly gorgeous and infuriatingly smug. Nicky loves his family, and he loves Elena’s fiancé, but he would sell a kidney to be able to leave right this second.

Instead, like the good son he is, he stands up a little straighter and says, “The dining room is this way. Can I get anyone something to drink?”

“So, Bianca, what are you studying?” Joe’s face is open and earnestly curious, and Nicky’s got an itch in his hand like he wants to punch something inanimate for a very long time. He can see how this is going to go. Joe’s going to win over Nicky’s family, and Nicky’s going to be the only one who knows how irritating he can be, and that’s going to make Nicky look like the asshole.

This night just gets better and better.

Bianca looks surprised and thrilled that the conversation isn’t just about Elena and Tarek. “Robotics,” she answers. “Though, really it’s more of a programming thing right now because I’m working on machine learning systems.”

There’s that gorgeous smug grin again as Joe says, “That’s fascinating. I might corner you and ask a ton of questions after dinner if that’s okay?” Bianca smiles and nods. “Must be nice to know that after you graduate, you’ll be able to actually do that kind of work. Not like those liberal arts majors who can’t find real jobs and just end up as teachers.” Joe turns to Anisa and winks.

Nicky is ready to launch into a barely restrained speech about how hard it is to be a teacher in the era where everything seems to be testing and numbers, but Anisa saves him from himself.

She groans and says, “I’m a middle-school music teacher, which Joe’s boss didn’t know when she opened her mouth and said that exact sentence. Maybe if she’d known, she’d have been less surprised when Joe spent the next few minutes lecturing her about how hard it is to be a teacher and how under-appreciated we are.” She looks at her brother fondly.

The undignified screech of Nicky’s chair pushing back from the table silences every other noise in the room. “Excuse me,” he says as calmly as he can. “I’ll be right back.” Trying to save face any way he can, Nicky holds up his phone to indicate that he needs to return a call. His mother nods, but Nicky can see his oldest sister’s face pinched and disapproving.

In the bathroom, Nicky drags a cold washcloth across the back of his neck and presses it to his face, trying to get the blotchy redness to calm down. He’s not the least bit surprised when the door handle turns, and Mia steps in.

“Close it behind you,” Nicky says.

“What crawled up your ass?”

Nicky braces his hands on the sink and drops his chin to his chest. “If I tell you,” he says to the sink, “you must promise not to tell anyone else. It isn’t bad; it’s just not something that needs to be interfering with Ellie and Tarek.”

Mia leans back against the door. She flips the lock before crossing her arms over her chest. No one keeps secrets the way Mia does, and Nicky needs to tell someone. He needs to not be the asshole at the table.

“I hooked up with the best man.”

“When? We’ve barely even started the salad!”

Nicky meets her eyes in the mirror and glares at her. “Not tonight. A few days ago. We met at a club, and things just happened.”

“Things just happened? Like ‘oops I tripped, and my dick landed inside him?’”

Suddenly exhausted with all of this, Nicky closes his eyes pinches the bridge of his nose. “Mia.”

“What happened to being too old to hit the club on weeknights?” Nicky tries glaring at her again, but Mia is only two years younger than he is; she still remembers when Nicky refused to wear anything but his favorite Voltron t-shirt for six straight months. She’s the one who walked in on Nicky kissing a boy when he was fourteen, then hugged him until he stopped crying, reassuring him that his family would always love him. He can’t intimidate her. “That should make it easier to get along, though. Right?”

Mia comes off as the straight-laced good girl with a solid head on her shoulders, but her heart hides a streak of sentimentality and happy endings that no amount of shitty dates has been able to drive out of her.

“No. It wasn’t—We weren’t friendly. He’s opinionated and smug and irritating. Friendly wasn’t an option.”

“Well, if you’re going to pick the most inconvenient man to hatefuck, at least you picked a hot one.”

Nicky drops his head again. “I _know._ ”

A few seconds later, he feels the reassuring warmth of Mia’s hand between his shoulder blades. “Wow. Fuck your life, huh Nico?”

“Thank you, Mia. That’s very comforting.”

Her arms wrap around his waist as she leans her cheek against his back. She’s the only one of his sisters who no longer lives nearby, and he’s _missed_ her. “We gotta get back out there before Ellie has a heart attack.” Nicky nods, patting her hands where they’re crossed over his belly. Mia takes the washcloth and rinses it, pressing it to the back of his neck again, just for a second, before dropping it in the sink. “Let’s go. You took on that one science teacher of Olivia’s; you can handle this.”

Like he’s walking to the gallows, he follows her out of the bathroom.

For Nicky, the rest of the meal passes in a haze of polite conversation and gut-twisting anxiety that Joe’s going to change his mind and say something. Yes, Nicky lied to his mother about having to leave dinner early on Thursday, and it would be awkward for him if she found out, but that’s not what he’s anxious about. Truth be told, he’ll likely end up confessing to her himself sometime soon because he hates lying to his mother. Quite probably, she’ll pat his cheek and tell him that she would have been happy to package up dessert and let him leave whenever he wanted if he’d only told her.

No, the real problem is his sisters. He doesn’t worry that he’s setting a bad example, they’re all grown women and capable of making their own decisions, and it doesn’t benefit anyone to pretend that those we admire are infallible. The issue is that if anyone but Mia finds out, Nicky will never hear the end of it. They can smell blood in the water like sharks. Every time he and Joe have to be in a room, there will be a di Genova sister making faces at him from an angle where Joe can’t see her. Eventually, Nicky will be forced to kill them all and get Mia to help hide the bodies, and who has that kind of time?

When Ellie corners him in the kitchen under the guise of helping with dessert, Nicky is so worried he’s given himself away he almost puts his hands up in a defensive posture.

“I need your help.”

Oh. That doesn’t sound like she’s about to mock him mercilessly.

“What can I do?”

“I asked Mia to be my maid of honor—“

“Ellie, that’s wonderful.”

“There’s no one else I’d rather have by my side. She’s my best friend.” She drums her fingers on the countertop. “The problem is, she also lives four hours away.”

“Okay.” Nicky isn’t following.

“There are all kinds of things I have to do in the next few months, and they’re the kinds of things I’d normally ask Mia to do with me.” Oh no. Nicky has a terrible, terrible feeling about this.

“You’ve got three other sisters.”

“The twins would insist on doing it together, and then it becomes a fight to wrangle their schedule.”

Every molecule of Nicky's self-preservation is clawing at the walls trying to find an escape route. “Bianca—“

“Has classes.” Elena rubs her forehead. “Most weekends, she’s in the lab. She waited so long to work with proper equipment. I’m not taking her away from that. Mom’s got work, and besides, if I take her, I’ll just end up doing what she wants, so she doesn’t make that face at me.” She steps up close enough to him that she has to tilt her head back to look up at him. Looking down at her like this always reminds him that he’s her big brother, and she knows it—this a low-down dirty trick. “Nicky, you have most afternoons and weekends free, you’ve got decent taste, and you won’t try to talk me into anything. Please. Help me with some of this stuff?”

Nick was only fourteen when their father left. He never tried to step into those shoes, never tried to be ‘man of the house,’ but sometimes parts of that job fell in his lap anyway. The only responsibility he consciously took on was to make sure he would always be anywhere his sisters needed him to be. School plays, soccer games, rides home from parties, all of it. Nicky chaperoned field trips, he went to every one of Viola’s dance recitals, and he cheered from the stands for each of Bianca’s tennis meets. They knew that if they needed him, he’d be there. Period.

He holds his arms out, knowing that he needs a hug at least as much as Ellie does. “Of course I’ll help.” Ellie steps into his arms and lets him rest his chin on her head. “You and me, we’ll be a great team,” he says.

“And sometimes Tarek and his best man.”

Thankfully, she’s still hugging him and can’t see the way his face twists because of course. Of fucking course. Naturally, the universe wants to watch him suffer more.

Back at the table, Tarek’s mother asks if they’ve picked a date, and Ellie says they’re looking at something about six months away.

“It will depend a little on what kind of place we find for the ceremony and what their calendar looks like.”

El and the mothers spend a while longer talking about the details of wedding venues. Though really, they could be talking about foreign policy and the mating habits of ostriches, for all he knows. Nicky stopped paying attention a while ago.

Instead, he’s sneaking furtive glances at Joe. This must be some as-yet-undiscovered streak of masochism in him because every time Nicky looks at Joe, he has flashbacks to Thursday night. Joe has a bite of cake, nodding at something Bianca says, and Nicky pictures Joe’s head sinking onto his cock. When Olivia asks him a question, Joe focuses on her with a gaze nearly as intense as when he was saying Nicky’s name over and over in that shockingly intimate tone. Nicky remembers himself saying, ‘What do you need, baby?’ and wonders when it got so hot in here.

“That’s a great question,” Joe says. What follows is a pause slightly too long to be only a breath. It’s a pause Nicky has grown familiar with over the twenty-two years the twins have been alive. This is the silence of someone trying to remember which one of them he’s talking to. Nicky tries not to smirk. Joe seems to think he’s figured it out. “Olivia—“

“Viola.”

This is terrible. Joe is infuriatingly hot even when he’s being insufferable about Nicky’s jeans. When he’s flustered like he is now, his face gets all soft, and his eyes get enormous, and Nicky would like very much to be anywhere else on earth rather than this table.

“My apologies, Viola.”

“I’m kidding; you were right the first time.”

Joe arches an eyebrow at her and grins like he’s just found a sparring partner. “Oh, it’s like that, is it?”

Olivia returns Joe’s grin, shrugging with a complete absence of repentance.

“Well, _Olivia_ the short answer is that—” Nicky misses everything after that because all he can hear is the grinding of his teeth. If they’d managed to keep their first encounter more consistently antagonistic, he wouldn’t be having this problem. They didn’t, though. Joe had that moment of softness and vulnerability, and Nicky answered him with gentleness and sweetness. It left them both raw and exposed.

There had been an opportunity on Thursday night, and maybe it was only those few seconds Nicky spent getting Joe a glass of water, for them to make peace, but they hadn’t. Now Nicky gets to spend the next six months randomly enduring forced civility with someone who irritates him just by breathing.

Fuck this guy. Fuck him and his gorgeous smile and his amazing ass and the way he’s charmed Nicky’s entire family. Fuck the wrinkles still creasing Nicky’s sheets where Joe had gripped and twisted them while he fell apart under Nicky’s mouth.

There’s a kind of loathing reserved for someone who’s seen your soft underbelly and dismissed it out of hand that’s unlike any other kind of hate.

He reaches for his glass just as Joe laughs, and he nearly fumbles it. That laugh seems so out of place beside all the caustic remarks Joe made in the bathroom earlier, and Nicky wonders if there’s a way for him to fuck Joe while wearing some kind of noise-canceling headphones. That would be a nice compromise.

During a lull in the conversation, Nicky’s mother asks what’s first on Elena’s planning list.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Ellie says. “We’ll need a location for everything, so I think we’re starting there. We’ve got a couple of places lined up to look at two weeks from now, and Nicky’s agreed to let me drag him along.” When she squeezes his hand, Nicky gets lost for a second in memories of her so much younger. This same hand had squeezed his as he walked her to her first day of fifth grade.

Tarek smiles at Nicky. “That’s great, man. We haven’t gotten to hang out for a while. Oh, but—” He turns to Joe. “That means our side is going to be outnumbered. You have to come with me.” Tarek is laughing and utterly failing to pick up on the panic in Joe’s eyes. “I’m pretty sure this is in the Best Man’s Handbook.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s not.”

“You’re going to do it anyway, though.”

As Tarek claps him on the shoulder, Joe sighs and looks up at Nicky through narrowed eyes.

This can’t possibly go wrong.


	3. you get struck each time i strike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once, at a sleepover when he was twelve, Joe saw a movie where zombies were chasing a man through a building. When the man finally found the exit, he went to open the doors only to find them chained shut. The final shot had been this man, shouting for help and trying in vain to get the doors open as the shuffling terrors descended on him.
> 
> When the penny drops and Joe realizes he's going to be stuck spending six months playing happy families with his most ill-advised one-night-stand, that scene from the zombie movie loops through his head for several seconds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to set expectations, I don't expect another chapter before Sunday afternoon at the earliest, and likely more like Sunday evening. The next couple of chapters need more extensive editing and I'd like to stay at least a chapter ahead of myself. Thank you all for the amazing comments, I have a pile of them I need to reply to, but each and every one of them has been a joy! 
> 
> And now, let's go see what's going on in Joe's head.

Once, at a sleepover when he was twelve, Joe saw a movie where zombies were chasing a man through a building. When the man finally found the exit, he went to open the doors only to find them chained shut. The final shot had been this man, shouting for help and trying in vain to get the doors open as the shuffling terrors descended on him.

When the penny drops and Joe realizes he's going to be stuck spending six months playing happy families with his most ill-advised one-night-stand, that scene from the zombie movie loops through his head for several seconds.

He's staring at Nicky, sitting there holding hands with Elena and wearing an expression of supreme smugness. Joe wonders what kind of injury he'd have to fake to be able to leave right now. A burst appendix would probably do it, but Joe's already had his out.

For now, he's stuck.

"Of course I'll come, T. I have to help represent our side, don't I? Family duty." Joe is trying for affable and praying he makes it anywhere close.

He's not sure where the conversation goes from there; it must meander through a few subjects because the next thing Joe hears clearly is his father saying, "So, Nicky, you've been up and down from the table so much we haven't gotten a chance to hear about what you do."

Joe spends a second contemplating what kind of field someone with Nicky's attitude and manners would thrive in and thinks, 'Yes, Nicky. Tell us about your job. Is there much career satisfaction in kicking puppies and drinking the blood of innocents?'

Nicky finishes chewing and wipes his mouth before answering. "I'm in education."

Huh.

"Like our Anisa! Are you on the administrative side?"

He has to be; who would let this man around their children?

"No, I don't have the temperament for office work, I'm afraid. I'm in the classroom."

"As a teacher?"

"Yes, sir."

No. Absolutely not.

"What subject do you teach?"

Joe could kill his father for dragging this out, but he's also dying to know. What possible subject could someone as infuriating as Nicky possibly—

"Kindergarten. Sometimes I help out in the first grade classroom, but I like the kindergarten kids best."

It feels like all the air is sucked out of the room and all Joe hears is a kind of thunk-thunk-thunk like two gears are trying and failing to meet up correctly. His throat feels tight. Is it possible he's actually swallowed his own tongue at the shock?

Who could even imagine Nicky as a kindergarten— Actually, while it's impossible to picture, it's frighteningly easy for Joe to believe. Nicky probably answers every question with the same sincere, gentle voice he'd used to say, "What do you need, baby?" At the memory, Joe feels something like a zip of electricity run down the back of his neck.

Nicky chuckles, "It's hard on the body, though. Earlier this week, I was helping my kids do outlines of themselves, so we could diagram where the major organs are, and I spent so much time crawling around on the floor that my knees are still sore."

Joe's face feels like it's on fire. Nicky just let him assume the worst at the club and didn't say a damn thing.

Instead, he sat there, smugly enjoying Joe looking stupid.

Nicky and Anisa trade teacher stories for a few minutes, and Joe can feel his fingernails digging into his palm. It's bad enough that Tarek already likes Nicky; now he's charming Anisa and Dad, and that hug at the door had effectively put Mom in Nicky's pocket, too. Everyone seems to be buying into Nicky's act.

Joe doesn't stop to consider that it might not be an act at all, because that would mean Nicky isn't an asshole by nature, and if that's the case, why is he choosing to be one _only_ to Joe? He doesn't have the mental bandwidth for that train of thought tonight, he's busy trying to survive watching Nicky's eyes crinkle at the corners when Anisa makes him laugh.

It really is miserably unfair that someone so pretty is such a pain in the ass.

When Nicky's mother tells her kids to clear the table, Joe excuses himself for a moment.

"I need to go grab something from the car," he says, pointing vaguely over his shoulder. He has no idea if the car is actually in that direction, but the meaning is clear regardless.

Outside, Joe breathes in big lungfuls of fresh air and tries not to rake his hands through his hair. That always makes it stand on end. It's been a tell of his since he was a kid, and the last thing he needs right now is someone in his family wondering what's got him stressed out.

Instead, he shakes his hands out, trying to let go of some of the tension in his shoulders and neck, and wonders if he's overreacting. Before he can fight it off, the image comes to Joe, unbidden, of Nicky's face as he asked Joe to keep their interaction a secret. Fuck that guy. It isn't the first time an incredibly attractive man turned out to be a raging asshole. It isn't even the first time Joe slept with one, even after the asshole part came to light.

The difference here is that it _is_ the first time Joe isn't in control of if or when he sees the guy again. If it gets bad enough, Joe will just have to tell Tarek what's going on and hope he understands Joe's need to bow out of some stuff.

Joe suspects he's about to win the prize for Worst Best Man. He takes a deep breath—time to go back in.

Almost before he's through the door, Joe feels Anisa's acrylic-tipped grip on his elbow. She has him inside the bathroom with the door closed before Joe can even open his mouth to protest.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" she hisses.

As much as he wants to keep his drama to himself, the idea that he might get to tell someone what's going on loosens a massive knot in the back of Joe's neck. "You can't tell anyone."

"When have I ever blabbed anything you asked me to keep secret?"

"You told Mom I was the one who broke Tarek's bike when you were ten. You told Dad when you saw me coming back in from that party in high school. You told both of them _and_ Tarek that I'd kissed Jonas Tran—"

"Okay! Those were all more than ten years ago, Yusuf. I've kept every secret you've told me for at least the last decade, and I'm not going to break that streak now. So what the fuck is going on?"

"I slept with Elena's brother."

Anisa frowns at him. "I thought you just went to get something from the car."

Joe rolls his eyes at her. "Not today. Earlier this week. It was a one-time thing."

"Is it about to become a more-than-one-time thing?"

"No. Absolutely not."

"I take it you didn't part on good terms, then."

"You could say that." Hell, they hadn't even _fucked_ on good terms.

Anisa leans against the sink, crosses her arms over her chest, and looks at him. "Remember my ex, Simon?" Joe nods. "The company he works for has offices three blocks from the school. About twice a week, I randomly run into him at the Starbucks up the street, and it's like having the rug yanked out from me all over. I don't let on, though, because I'm not going to give him the satisfaction. I smile politely like a grown-up, and I spend however long it takes to make my coffee imagining him with his hair on fire."

"What's your point?"

"You can't give him the satisfaction, and you can't let this interfere with Tarek's wedding. So put your big boy pants on and stop acting like a moody teenager sulking at the dinner table. If it gets to be too much, and you need to vent, text me."

Joe sighs. Okay, if Anisa can do this, he can do this. Not a problem. Keep it under control; text Anisa if it starts boiling over.

"Now splash some water on your face and get back out there, champ."

"I hate you."

She pats his back in the most condescending way possible.

When they open the door, one of the twins is waiting outside. "This bathroom is getting a lot of traffic today. Is there a sign-up sheet I should know about or something?"

Two weeks later, Joe meets Nicky in the parking lot of Tarek and Elena's apartment complex, and his plans almost immediately go entirely to shit. It turns out he still loses all sense of perspective as soon as Nicky smirks at him.

"Have you decided whether or not to be civil to me?" Nicky asks.

Joe, who hasn't been anything less than polite whenever he and Nicky were around others, wants to get back in his car and go home.

"I thought about it, but I decided to wait and see if you'd developed any manners in the last two weeks."

Nicky glares at him. So many things about this entire situation are unfair, but perhaps the most unfair is how incredibly sexy Nicky looks when he does that. His gaze is piercing, and his jaw is set, and Joe wonders what instrument of fate he pissed off to still feel this attracted to a man who makes his blood boil.

Tucking his hair behind his ears, Nicky gestures toward the stairs. "After you." Joe snorts; it's going to take more than that to convince Joe.

Striding past him and up the stairs, Joe idly wonders if Nicky is dealing with the same confused attraction. It's probably for the best if he isn't. Still, if he's going to be walking up the stairs with his ass in Nicky's face, Joe's glad to be wearing these particular jeans.

When she opens the door, Elena's smile is as sweet as ever. "Hey, you're both here! Did you ride over together or something?"

"No!" Elena and Tarek are both a little startled by the vehemence of Nicky's response. Joe just adds another tick to the 'Number of Times Nicky Proves We Can't Let Him Out in Public' column of his mental scratchpad.

"Just had the good fortune to get her at the same time," Joe says. "Isn't that right?" He smiles at Nicky and feels a secret thrill of triumph as Nicky blinks in confusion. Joe beams at Ellie and his brother and hugs them both.

Ellie, demonstrating the keen tactical mind that will beat Tarek at every board game they ever play in their long lives together, has a map and plan of attack that minimizes driving and leaves break for lunch.

"The first place has limited parking on site. They provide offsite parking for events, but for today we'd do best to take only a couple of cars. I know where it is, and Nicky knows where it is, so why doesn't Tarek ride with me and—" Joe feels his heart sink— "Joe, you can ride with Nicky."

Joe is dreading his next visit to the dentist. They're going to wonder how he managed to grind all his teeth flat. "Sounds like a plan!"

When the question arises of which vehicle to take, the two of them have an intense debate of the type his mother would euphemistically describe as 'spirited.' In the end, Joe wins because his car has a full tank of gas and the steering wheel isn't randomly smeared with glitter glue. (An occupational hazard for Nicky, he supposes.)

In the car, Nicky lets out a deep sigh. It might just have been him settling in for a long ride or yawning, but Joe doubts it.

"What is it?" Joe really did try not to sound antagonistic. He did!

Nicky's eye twitches. "I've decided that whenever you try my patience today, I'm going to remember that you somehow managed to get my come in your own eye. That should help my mood."

Somehow, Joe doesn't strangle him. "Oh, that sounds like a great plan. And whenever you start getting on my nerves, I'll stop and think about how you begged me to let you get off."

"I didn't beg you for anything!"

Joe looks at him. "Really."

"Fuck you," Nicky says as Joe starts the car. "You really want to start this game? Because there's some incriminating evidence on both sides."

The first venue is forty minutes away, and Joe is honestly not sure they're both going to make it there alive. He manages to make it five minutes before he says, "Look, you were clearly enjoying yourself. There's nothing wrong with a little begging in the heat of the moment."

"Would you just fucking drop it!"

He does. For about another five minutes. Later, Joe will wonder why the hell he couldn't just leave well enough alone. If Nicky was willing to just ride in silence, Joe should have let him. There is no reason for him to keep picking at Nicky just for the enjoyment of watching his neck get blotchy with irritation and embarrassment.

Joe shrugs. "Listen, I don't hold it against you. I just hope you took notes; there are worse talents to have than a blowjob technique that drives your partners to beg."

"My blowjob technique is JUST FINE, thank you."

This time, somehow, Joe keeps his mouth shut, but Nicky turns to glare at him anyway.

"Make a right at the next light," Nicky says.

"The sat-nav says—"

"For once, just do something without arguing. Make a fucking right at the next light."

Deciding that Nicky has no idea where he's going, and it will be more fun to gloat later than to argue now, Joe follows Nicky's directions.

"Now a left just up here past the—" he gestures at the spot where the center median ends.

Joe looks at where Nicky wants him to turn. "That's not the venue."

"We're making an extra stop."

"How long is that going to take?"

Nicky stares straight ahead, a muscle bunching in his jaw. "I don't know, but I won't drag it out any longer than necessary."

His directions take them to the parking lot of a bank. It's Sunday afternoon, and the bank is well and truly closed. Even the drive-through lanes aren't open.

"What are we supposed to—"

"Park," Nicky says. "Over there." He gestures to a spot near the back corner of the lot, but not so far into the corner that it would catch anyone's attention. Joe opens his mouth to ask, again, what the fuck they're doing here. Before he can get a word out, Nicky reaches over and palms the zipper of Joe's jeans. Joe's mouth snaps shut so fast he nearly bites his tongue. "Just. Park."

Maybe it's Nicky's tone; maybe it's their morning of sniping at each other causing some kind of confused arousal; maybe it's just the idea of what Nicky has in mind and the memory of exactly what Nicky's tongue can do. Whatever the cause, Joe's cock twitches to life, pressing urgently against the inside of his zipper.

"Okay," he says and picks a parking spot. He is very, very glad they aren't in Nicky's car, which is significantly lower to the ground than Joe's and therefore much easier to see into.

Sideways, over the emergency brake, jammed up against the gear shift knob and the underside of the steering wheel has to be one of the more uncomfortable positions to be in when performing oral sex, but that doesn't get in Nicky's way even a little.

It would be nice for Joe if he could look back on this later and say he handled it with some level of nonchalance, but that chance flies out the window almost immediately. "FU—Fuuuuck, Nicky." There's a hint of a whine in his voice, but Joe can't be bothered to care.

Joe rests a possessive hand over the back of Nicky's neck, the fingers of his other hand carding through Nicky's hair. He can feel it slipping through his fingers, the waves at the ends barely catching his grip. Nicky has the softest hair Joe's ever felt, and it's almost impossibly thick. If they had the kind of relationship where they kissed, he'd spend every kiss with his hands buried in Nicky's hair.

Just as he starts to mentally berate himself for paying any attention to Nicky's hair, Nicky starts to suck. Joe isn't fast enough to stop the words before they're out. "Yes. Nicky, yes. That's--fuck, Nicky. Nickyyy." Joe bites down on his lip as his upper body curls over, drawing in on itself. Whatever Nicky's doing with his tongue is just as good as Joe suspected. This feels amazing. It was a great plan. Nicky's so clever for thinking of it.

One of Nicky's hands squirms its way under his chin and cups Joe's balls, still tucked inside his boxers. He doesn't grab, just strokes his fingers over them again and again as his relentless tongue pulls more gasps and involuntary little whines from Joe's mouth.

It's over much more quickly than Joe might like, but then again, they are in public in broad daylight, and they have someplace to be. It's probably for the best that Nicky doesn't wait any longer to curl his tongue around the head of Joe's cock just as his amazing mouth starts sucking again. Joe doesn't beg. He doesn't plead. He couldn't if he wanted to because all he can get out is "Nicky!" and a strangled groan as his cock jerks and spills into Nicky's mouth.

Pulling off, Nicky stops to press a surprisingly tender kiss on the underside of Joe's cock before tucking it back into his underwear and pulling his zipper back up. Taking a swig from the water bottle sitting in one of the cup holders, Nicky swishes it around in his mouth before swallowing. He fastens his seatbelt and says, "Turn right out of the parking lot and take the first on-ramp."

Joe, too stunned to even comment, nods and starts the car.

Their first stop is a farm, and Joe assumes it's okay. Frankly, the only reason he knows it's a farm is that Nicky had said, "The farm is up there on the right, make your next turn." Nothing about the place sticks in his memory at all. Whether that's because the place had nothing to recommend it or because Joe's brain is still scrambled from having Nicky try to suck it out through his dick is a question for the ages.

Before they head out for Ellie's second stop, Nicky rests his arms on the roof of the car and pins Joe with his stare. "Do you need me to drive?"

The idea that Nicky might be sitting there smugly congratulating himself for doing this to Joe is all he needs to snap him out of it. "No. I'm perfectly capable of driving. Besides, you've already disrupted my life enough without me having to readjust all my seat settings too." He yanks the car door open and slides into the driver's seat.

As he buckles his seatbelt, Nicky casts a sidelong glance his way, and Joe can almost feel it burning into his cheek.

"Wh—" Joe starts but cuts himself off almost immediately.

"What?"

"Nothing. Put the address to the next place into the sat-nav app so that we can go."

Three hours later, when Ellie and Tarek finally decide on a venue for the ceremony and reception—the renovated barn of an area farm that's desperately trying to rebrand itself as a vineyard—Joe still hasn't managed to get his head on straight fully. Nicky, by some blessed miracle, stays quiet for the rest of the afternoon. The silence between them should have been welcome. After all, wanting Nicky to shut up has been a constant in their encounters so far. Instead, it sits on Joe's skin and itches.

At a stoplight, Joe flicks open his podcast app and turns the phone to face Nicky. He gestures toward it, and Nicky takes the cue to scroll through and find something to fill the dead space in the car. Joe's worried if his brain gets enough room to build up a head of steam, he's going to end up finally wondering why Nicky never ended up in Tarek's car so Ellie could ride with Joe.

Joe thinks the podcast might have been about FDR's dog, but he's not entirely sure. It does the job. That's what matters. He and Nicky can focus on that and not worry about making awkward conversation or biting off each other's heads.

They're heading back to Tarek and Ellie's apartment when Joe's phone rings, Tarek's smiling face showing as the incoming caller.

"Please tell me you aren't second-guessing the farm," Joe says, and Tarek laughs.

"Nothing like that, no. I know you and Nicky have to head back here to get his car. El and I were wondering if we could treat you guys to dinner in thanks for coming out with us today."

To Joe, Tarek is, and always will be, the best man he's ever known. Dinner with the two of them is always fun and usually devolves into Joe telling embarrassing Tarek stories until Ellie laughs so hard she can't breathe. Still, that invitation was open to Nicky as well, and really, Joe's at limit with Nicky, at least for today. If this goes on much longer, he's going to lose the ability to filter himself and play nice in front of their siblings, and as Anisa reminded him, this can't interfere with the wedding.

"I wish I could, man, but I've got plans for tonight, and I need to get changed first."

His plans are watching TV and finishing the leftovers from last night's dinner. As for having to get changed, it would be better if he didn't eat messy food in these nice jeans (or these boxers, which, despite Nicky's best efforts, probably didn't survive the bank parking lot unscathed).

So, it's hardly a lie at all.

"Next time," Tarek says, and Joe agrees. Next time, absolutely. He disconnects the call, and the car is quiet for a few seconds before Nicky chimes in.

"Date?"

If you believe Joe's knee-jerk reaction, Nicky's voice is dripping with condescension. Of course, if you've spent any time watching these two, it's clear they don't have the best sense of perspective when it comes to each other. Still, Joe doesn't even stop to do a reality check on his interpretation of Nicky's question.

"I don't see how that's any business of yours." Joe flicks his gaze to the side just in time to watch Nicky's eyes go hard and distant. He's clenching his jaw so hard Joe can see the movement in his temple.

"I couldn't care less about your dating habits. And if the only thing you're going to change about yourself before you go is your clothes, neither could you."

As Joe pulls up behind Nicky's car, he just gives up. Turning to face Nicky, with a voice full of terrifying calmness, he says, "Maybe I lied. Maybe I'm just going home to sleep. You have no way of knowing because you? Know nothing about me."

Nicky unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out of the car. With one hand on the door and one hand on the roof, he leans down so he can see Joe. His eyes glitter as he smirks. "That's not true. There's one thing about you I'm sure of. If you're driving home and going straight to sleep, I know exactly what you'll be dreaming about."

As though trying to prove he's got superior self-control, Nicky doesn't slam the door. Somehow, that's as infuriating to Joe as Nicky's words had been.

The worst part is that he's right. Joe makes it home on sheer adrenaline and has to bully himself up the stairs. In the shower, he rests his forehead against the tiles and lets the water pound his back while he thinks about nothing and everything. He worries he's going to be awake for hours, but he's asleep almost before he finishes switching off the light on his bedside table.

It would have been good if things ended there, but Joe wakes up at five in the morning with his jaw clenched shut and his cock hard enough that it hurts when he rolls over on it. The dream is slipping through his fingers, but he can remember Nicky laughing like he'd laughed at things his sisters said during dinner. He remembers Nicky's hair between his fingers and hot breath against his ear as Nicky said, "Kiss me, baby. Then I'm going to make you feel so good."

For several long minutes, Joe stares at the ceiling and wishes his brain and his dick could agree about who they find attractive.


	4. share for share, share alike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three weeks later, Ellie texts to say that she's doing a tasting with a couple of caterers over lunch, and she'd love it if he joined her. With Tarek and Joe. Of course. She says because it falls at an odd time, and they'll likely be stuffed afterward, there won't be a Saturday family dinner, but dessert and debrief is planned for afterward at the di Genova house. He texts back to say that he wouldn't miss it.
> 
> The tasting almost goes off without incident. Almost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the deal, I’m playing a little fast and loose with some of the details of the planning, like bringing extra people to the tasting, because I figure for you all, the primary concern isn’t the strict verisimilitude of their interactions with various wedding vendors. If there’s something particularly egregious, please ping me via comment here or on tumblr where I’m werebearbearbar and I’ll see what I can tweak. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has left kudos or comments, reached out on tumblr. Interaction like that is never expected, but it’s always, ALWAYS appreciated. I don’t expect to post again before Tuesday, but I made this one nearly twice as long as the last, just to make up for it. They’re still being a little rough on each other, but hang in there, we’re making progress.

Arriving home from the afternoon looking at venues, Nicky gets no further than the door.

He steps in, slams it behind himself, and sags against it. His head thunks back into the wood, and the hand not still holding his keys paws at his jeans until he can get the buttons undone. He pushes his boxers down under his balls and clutches his cock with a frankly punishing grip.

This isn't about passion or even an undeniable sexual urge. This is about getting the job done and getting the fuck on with his day.

Nicky has things to do. Dishes to wash. Books to read. Things that don't involve thinking about Joe.

That man. That infuriating man. Joe hasn't gotten less attractive since that dinner with both their families. Nicky's face is stuck in a rictus of frustration as he tries not to think about Joe's soft voice in the car or the way he looks at his brother or the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he laughs. That's part of the reason he didn't wait until he was in bed to do this; he'd be remembering Joe laid out next to him.

No, that's not how this is going to go down. Nicky's going to acknowledge that the man is attractive, but he's not going to slip into sentimentality halfway through this as he does with every other carnal activity in his life that involves Joe. This is about getting some control back. He's going to drive his hips up into his hand until he comes, and he's going to stay angry at Joe the entire time.

He makes it. Barely.

The pulse of his cock as he comes reminds him of the way Joe's had felt in his mouth. That, in turn, reminds him of Joe's hands in his hair. Nicky chokes out a frustrated half-sob and slumps to the ground, his jeans and boxers halfway down his ass, and his fly spread wide open. Knowing he'll regret it later when he has to do laundry, he wipes his hand off on his jeans.

The truth is that Joe's hand in his hair fucked Nicky up a little. The way he'd stroked it had been so unexpectedly intimate, like Nicky calling Joe' baby' or Joe softly asking for more. It blurred the lines on what they are sure of about each other, which might have been fine, except that they can't stop tearing each other to shreds whenever they're out of earshot of their families.

Nicky had tried, honestly tried, to be nice to Joe at several points throughout the day. To make peace with him and see if they couldn't find common ground, maybe start over. Every time he even made an attempt, Joe would snap at him, and Nicky would snap back. One of them spewing sparks, the other one splashing fuel, both of them stuck inside the fire.

There had been one reprieve, one small one, for those few minutes in the bank parking lot. Joe's hand resting gently on the back of his neck and Joe's fingers in his hair is a sensation that's going to linger for far longer than Nicky wants it to.

Don't ask how he knows this for sure. It's just a hunch.

Feeling less tense but still just as angry, Nicky stuffs his clothes in the hamper and spends the rest of the evening mindlessly scrolling on his phone and eating... something for dinner. He can't quite remember what. Mia texts in the middle of his moping, and they make an appointment for a video chat the next night when he's in a better mood, and she's not killing time waiting for a date to start. He's looking forward to it. For one thing, he misses her. For another, she'll probably enjoy hearing what a mess he's gotten himself into.

When he climbs into bed, he prays that he'll dream about something dull and ordinary, like being late for an exam. It would make a nice change from the dreams he's been having a few times a week, which have been full of all the things he would do to Joe if he didn't have to hear him talk and could just enjoy getting off without all this anger.

His kids finally get his head on straight. Nicky's long since learned that you can show vulnerability to kindergarteners, but you can't show weakness. They'll run right over him like a herd of loud, happy elephants.

"Mister G, my dad says people have walked on the moon."

"Hi Marcus, good morning." He drops to one knee so he can meet Marcus's eyes. "Your dad is right. It was a few decades ago, but it happened and changed a lot of things in the world."

"What's decades?"

"Ten years. Can you show me ten?" Marcus holds up both hands, all his fingers extended. "That's right. If you got four friends and all five of you put your hands up like that and counted your fingers, that's how many years ago it was."

"How could they be up there with no air?"

Nicky needs to nip this in the bud for the moment while also making sure Marcus knows the questions can continue later. He doesn't want to crush the natural curiosity of a bright, sweet boy. He also doesn't want to spend the next two hours explaining the intricacies of going to the bathroom in low Earth orbit, or why the zero-gravity parabolic flight plane is sometimes called the 'vomit comet.'

"That's a great question. Do you think you guys would like to learn about space next?" Marcus nods, his eyes enormous and fascinated. "We're about to finish up our projects about rainbows, and I'll be asking everyone this week what they want to study next. I'll make sure space is one of the options."

"Thanks, Mister G!" Marcus hugs him, and Nicky wants to melt. Affection from someone who wants nothing from him and doesn't judge him feels fantastic. He hadn't gotten to hug Ellie before he left the day before, and he hasn't seen the rest of his family in a few weeks. This hug serves to reset his brain, clearing away the scrambled state Joe's touches had left him in.

"You're so welcome, Marcus. Okay, time for Circle, and I think Jai's been looking forward to telling you about his weekend."

Recalibrated, recentered, Nicky spends the rest of his day laughing with some of the best kids in the world.

Three weeks later, Ellie texts to say that she's doing a tasting with a couple of caterers over lunch, and she'd love it if he joined her. With Tarek and Joe. Of course. She says because it falls at an odd time, and they'll likely be stuffed afterward, there won't be a Saturday family dinner, but dessert and debrief is planned for afterward at the di Genova house. He texts back to say that he wouldn't miss it.

Technology is a marvel. Not only can he have food delivered to his doorstep without having to interact with another person, but he can also react to that message from his sister by spending a few seconds cursing in his living room, and she never needs to know.

The tasting _almost_ goes off without incident. Almost.

It might have been easier if Joe were sitting next to Nicky, if they didn't have to see each other except through their peripheral vision. Unfortunately, while God may not play dice with the universe, some higher power has clearly played chess with today's seating arrangements. And right now, they are somewhere laughing their asses off.

Nicky is sitting next to Tarek, and Joe is opposite him. The caterer is sitting at the end of the table talking Ellie and Tarek through the offerings they'll be having, which leaves Joe and Nicky to make increasingly irritated eye contact through dish after dish.

The whole thing starts to go pear-shaped the moment the server takes a liking to Joe. He seems like a nice enough young man, attractive in a very ordinary way, but every time he puts something down in front of Joe, he leans just a little closer than necessary and smiles just a little longer than mere courtesy would dictate. Even that might have passed unremarked, except that about the third time it happens, Joe smiles up at him.

"Thank you—I'm sorry I didn't catch your name."

"Anders," he says, his eyes never leaving Joe's dimple.

"Thank you, Anders. This looks great."

As Anders is walking away, Joe turns back and meets Nicky's stare. Maybe Nicky could have kept himself from rolling his eyes, but he doesn't even try.

"What?"

Nicky shakes his head. "Unbelievable."

Like it's a mission, Joe smiles a little bigger every time Anders brings another dish. Nicky wants to pull Anders aside and apologize. He wants to say, 'I'm sorry he's like this.'

When Anders walks into a chair on his way back to the kitchen, Nicky hisses, "Is now really the time for that?"

"For what?"

Nicky scoffs. "Right. Whatever."

Ellie catches the end of the exchange and looks at Nicky. "Everything alright?"

He smiles at her, takes a deep breath, and remembers why they're here. "Yes, of course. Do you like the chicken?"

She shrugs. "I think the fish is going to be better; that's what's up next." Turning to Joe, Ellie says, "So, how was your week? Did you get stuck with the spreadsheets, or did you get lucky enough to wine and dine people every day?"

Joe winks at her. "Come on, El. You know how it works. I take every chance to pass off the spreadsheets to my loyal army of interns, so I can spend my days picking up the check for three-hour lunches."

If Nicky were paying any more attention, if he weren't half-watching Anders making big anime eyes at Joe from across the room, he might catch the subtext of that exchange. He might notice Ellie's teasing tone or the way Joe is obviously exaggerating the haughtiness in his voice. He doesn't, though. He sees the wink and misinterprets it completely.

The most unfortunate part about what happens next is that Nicky genuinely isn't trying to be a jerk. He's trying to tease his sister about her job. What comes out is, "This is the problem with freelancing, El. No one else to stick with the spreadsheets while you get do the things that aren't really work."

It's the way Joe goes completely still that catches Nicky's attention. When he looks over, the expression on Joe's face is colder than Nicky's ever seen it. Putting his fork and knife down with the same careful deliberation he'd used to hang the towel during that awful, awkward conversation at their first family dinner, Joe starts, "What the—"

Ellie's laugh cuts off whatever he was about to say.

"Oh Nicky, no." She's doubled over with one hand on Nicky's shoulder for support. "Sorry," she catches her breath. "It's just that I'm thinking about how most days Joe would volunteer to do spreadsheets for the entire team if it meant he could send an intern to sweet talk a donor. He hates those lunches more than anything." At his continued expression of confusion, she says, "Joe's the Development Director for the contemporary arts center downtown. He handles all their fundraising, but he has yet to figure out how to get rid of the gladhanding. What do they call it, Joe? There's some term—"

"Relationship management," Joe says. He's staring at Nicky as he says it, ice dripping from every word, but as he finishes speaking, he turns to Ellie and flashes her a warmer, more personal version of the grin he's been giving Anders for the last hour. "Because that sounds better than, 'Pay for the privilege of spending two or three hours begging for money."

Nicky feels like his face is on fire, and everything El and Joe are saying just stokes the flames. It's bad enough being wrong without having his sister explain that Nicky's mistake is because of a joke he doesn't get, and all that is before he compounds things with Joe's reaction.

She laughs again. "That's it. Poor Joe _wishes_ his interns could help with that instead of the paperwork."

A wry smile curls the corner of Joe's mouth. "Yeah, well. Unfortunately, I regularly get the boring lunches _and_ the spreadsheets."

"And the four-hour board meetings," Tarek says. Joe groans and buries his face in his hands.

"Don't remind me. There's another one coming next week."

Ellie asks Nicky about his work as well, and he must tell her something because she nods and smiles, but he has no idea what he says. It's like he's on autopilot until he can get out of this room.

Like some kind of gift from the heavens, Nicky's phone rings. "Excuse me," he says. "I have to take this. I'll be right back."

Outside, Nicky hits the button to decline whatever telemarketing spam call had been his savior just now and finds a spot behind the building where he can hide out for a few minutes. There's a breeze cooling the skin on his cheeks as Nicky catches his breath. People make mistakes all the time. This isn't a big deal. Joe didn't stop to ask why Nicky's knees hurt that first night in the club; he just assumed it was for some lewd reason. Nicky's not the only one jumping to incorrect conclusions.

It helps—a little.

To his surprise, just about the time he thinks he might be ready to go in, Anders steps out the door to Nicky's left with a pack of cigarettes in his hand. Nicky must have stumbled his way into the staff's smoking spot.

"Hey," Anders says, and Nicky smiles politely.

"Hello."

He lights his cigarette and takes a long drag before turning to Nicky. "The guy with the grin, is he with you?"

"No. He's really not."

"Is he single?"

"I—" Nicky always assumed he was, given their first encounter. "I think so."

"Tell him if he wants, he should leave me his number before he goes."

The way Nicky stares at him, you'd think Anders had just said, 'he should leave a six-foot snake shitting in the centerpiece before he goes.' This is what happens when people have only seen Joe's friendly face.

"I'll do that."

Back at the table, Nicky turns to Joe. "Your flirting paid off; your new friend says you should leave him your number if you want."

Joe blinks. "What flirting?"

Nicky sighs. "Sure. Whatever. Forget I said anything."

He's looking forward to an evening with family, he'll get some hugs from Bianca and the twins and some love from his mom, and the world will seem a little less off-kilter. Just before they all get in their cars, Ellie says, "Nicky, I'll see you at the house?"

He nods. "That's the plan."

She turns to Joe. "Mom says you're coming for dessert; she's not taking no for an answer." When it looks like Joe might be about to make an excuse to pass on the invitation, Tarek claps him on the shoulder.

"It'll be great. You can keep me company. I haven't gotten to see enough of you lately."

Nicky thinks maybe he's the only one familiar enough with Joe's fake smiles to know that the one he gives Tarek rings false.

"Sure. I'll see you guys there."

Anxious to avoid any chance for accidental eye contact, Nicky turns and gets in his car. He spends the entire drive back to the house flipping through the mental scrapbook of his life, looking for something specific. There's Ellie sitting next to him in the grass; her missing teeth and skinned up knees mean she can't have been more than ten. Flip. Flip. Flip. Nicky at the park, pushing the twins on the swings. Flip. Flip. Flip. Mia and Nicky, at fourteen and sixteen, curled around each other like puppies, each with a book, the way they'd done since they were little.

He firmly believes he's not someone who hides from the truth, so he looks at the less flattering memories, too. Moments like his arguments with Bianca or the time he chaperoned Viola's class trip to the zoo while hungover and reeking of beer because the first two weeks of college were a rough adjustment. Even looking at the worst memories, he's failing to find the moment he'd done something terrible enough to warrant a punishment like finding Joe popping up in every corner of his life.

If he wants to know why Joe's presence is plaguing him, that's the wrong way to go about it. Maybe if he stopped and re-examined that notion of himself as someone who doesn't hide from the truth, he might get closer to an explanation, but really, what are the chances of that?

Somehow, Nicky's the last one to the house, but not by much. When he pulls up, the other three are standing in the driveway discussing the food they tasted.

"Nicky," Tarek says. "Back me up on this, the chicken was better than the steak, right?"

Now Nicky gets to pretend he has any memory of all of those dishes. The chicken maybe had a sauce? The steak could have been purple for all he remembers. At that point, he was distracted watching Anders try to serve himself to Joe on a platter.

"The chicken was great, yeah." Then, because apparently today is the day Nicky's mouth decided it's had enough of playing things safe, he turns to Joe and says, "What did you think, Romeo? Or were you focusing on other things?"

In his first year of college, Nicky learned the term 'Pyrrhic victory.' He knows it's a with such a high cost it might as well be a defeat. The definition stayed with him, but the concept hadn't truly struck home until this moment. As the smile falls from Joe's face, Nicky feels his gut roil and thinks 'Oh. I get it now.'

"El, what are the chances your mom is waiting on us?" Joe asks.

"Good call. If she has to come out and get us, it won't be pretty." She grins and wraps her arm around Nicky's as they head inside. "So tell me how the kids were this week?"

Talk about Nicky's class dominates the conversation for a while, but there are only so many times he can describe a five-year-old putting a crayon up their nose (three) or the best use of dried pasta in art (paint it and make rainbows) before things move on. Eventually, Nicky's mom wants details about the food El and Tarek tasted. Nicky tunes out, poking at his food and trying to calculate how long he has to stay before he can leave without raising questions.

When dessert seems to be winding down, Olivia says, "Sounds like you guys had fun. Can V and I do the cake samples with you?" Ellie nods, smiling.

"The food was great," Nicky says. "I think everyone will like it." He extends the tiniest olive branch to Joe as he smiles sincerely and says, "One of us even got out of there with a date, right Joe?"

Joe frowns at him. "No. I didn't. I'm sure he was a nice guy, but I wasn't flirting with him. I was just polite."

Nicky's eyebrows go up. "Is that what you think 'polite' looks like?"

Shit. His mom is looking at him.

He can see the way Joe's knuckles have gone white where he's gripping his knife and fork. "Since when are you in a position to judge other peoples' manners?"

Nicky's hand stops with his glass halfway to his mouth. If only he'd been able to stop his mouth at the same time. "Oh, so I should take etiquette advice from the guy who spent this afternoon eye-fucking the wait staff?" His voice had risen as he spoke, and by the time he's finished, everyone at the table is staring at him.

Joe pushes back from the table and stomps down the hall to the bathroom.

Everyone is still staring at Nicky like _he_ is the six-foot snake shitting in the centerpiece.

Under the table, Olivia delivers a vicious kick to his shin. He puts his glass back down and sighs. "Excuse me. I'll just go—" He gestures in the direction Joe went.

Joe is just coming out of the bathroom when Nicky reaches the door. He puts a hand up as Joe opens his mouth to speak, "Not here." Nicky points to a door halfway down the hall on the left. Joe glares at him, but he follows.

Nicky isn't unfamiliar with the concept of 'home-court advantage,' and maybe that's what he thinks he's doing as he ushers Joe into his childhood bedroom with its "Hot Fuzz" movie poster and its desk drawer hiding at least two dead Tamagotchis. If this is the case, he has made a serious error in judgment. It's far from the first one he's made that day, and it won't be the last, but even so, it's a stand-out.

He closes the door behind them and turns to Joe, hissing, "What are you _doing?_ "

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Of course you don't. You weren't the one sitting in the dining room sniping at me so much that my family took notice."

"Like you weren't the one who started it."

"When?"

"In the driveway—" Joe's attention is caught by something on the dresser just behind Nicky's right shoulder. "Shit, Nicky, are those math trophies? Are those _your_ math trophies?" The note of glee in Joe's voice is both wildly out of place in the current moment and genuinely terrifying.

"Joe."

"This is your room, isn't it? This is your childhood bedroom you've brought me into so you could make an argument about how mature you are. I'm not sure you thought this one through, Nicky."

"Do you think you could focus for one minute? "

"That depends, are there Power Rangers sheets on that bed?"

"This isn't about my bed!"

For a second, the only sound in the room is their breathing.

"I wasn't flirting with Anders."

"I don't care who you flirt with." It's possibly the biggest lie Nicky's ever said right out loud, and he doesn't even realize it.

"Then why do you keep—"

"Because he was still serving you when you were doing it. That has all kinds of—"

"Power imbalance shit, I know, Nicky. Which is part of why I _wasn't_ flirting with him."

They stare at each other, and Nicky feels the moment spool out into the space between them. Joe's breathing is calm, but Nicky can see his pulse throb in his neck. Fingers twitching with the urge to feel that pulse against his skin, Nicky keeps his hand at his side. Now is not the time—Oh, but he wants—

"Nicky?"

Before Joe has the chance to say something kind that will derail Nicky's entire train of thought, he reaches out and brushes Joe's pulse with his thumb. Joe takes a quick, shallow breath in but doesn't let it out. It feels like someone else is in control as Nicky bends and nips at the spot he's been touching. Joe's breath leaves him in a burst of air.

"Shit," Joe hisses into his ear, and Nicky grins, scraping his teeth over the patch still wet from his mouth. When he feels Joe's hands clutch his shirt, curling into his skin almost painfully, Nicky groans and is unable to stop his hips from rolling into Joe's

Some part of Nicky is watching himself from a distance and asking, 'What the fuck are you doing?' He ignores that part. He tells that part to go play outside, that it could use some fresh air. When Joe noses into the hollow just under his jaw, Nicky drops his head to the side with a soft sigh. Joe drags his teeth across it that spot, and Nicky feels a shudder run down his back.

"Joe, what—"

"Maybe I don't like feeling like I owe you one after the bank parking lot." He sinks his hand into Nicky's hair and tugs. Nicky's head falls back, and he feels Joe's tongue lap at the hollow of his throat.

He digs his fingers into Joe's hips and thinks how nice it would be to have even a second around Joe when he could think rationally instead of bouncing from one extreme to another. They're either tearing each other's heads off or tearing each other's clothes off; there doesn't seem to be an in-between. If there were, Nicky might ask the question he really wants to, which is 'Why now? What's different in here? What will be different when they leave this room?' Instead, he pokes at Joe's explanation like a sore tooth.

"Really?"

Raising his head, Joe meets Nicky's eyes. "Fuck, Nicky, I don't know. Maybe because it feels good. Maybe I think this will shut you up. Maybe I just want five minutes today when I don't want to strangle you."

Well, at least they have that in common. Joe's clever fingers are working open the buttons on Nicky's shirt. He pulls the collar wide so he can get to the curve where Nicky's shoulder meets his neck and drag his teeth over it. Nicky's breath catches in his throat.

"Okay," he says.

Joe leans back and meets Nicky's eye. "Okay?"

"Fuck, Joe, just—"Nicky tightens his grip on Joe's hips and pulls him forward, bringing their bodies so close together that Joe can't help but rock into Nicky and groan. "Just what I said. Okay. But we're not doing anything in that bed, so you can stop eyeing it up."

The look of smartass appraisal on Joe's face would take hours to read thoroughly. "Aww. It's okay; you don't have to be embarrassed about your Power Rangers sheets."

"I don't give a shit what you think about my sheets; that bed creaks. The minute you sit down on it, half the house will be outside that door."

"But you were fine sucking my dick in broad daylight in public. You're a pretty situational exhibitionist, Nicky." He sinks his teeth into Nicky's earlobe. "If not the bed, where?"

Nicky gropes behind him blindly until he finds the chair at his old desk. He pulls it out and turns it before he spins the two of them and backs Joe up until he's sitting. Reaching up, Joe drags his fingernails down the front of Nicky's chest, and Nicky groans, a shiver running down his back. Joe bends and sucks, sharp and a little mean, at a spot on Nicky's hip. There's a livid purple mark when he pulls back, and Nicky wants to touch it.

Grabbing the tails of Nicky's shirt, Joe yanks, and Nicky drops onto his lap. "Open your jeans," Joe says. Nicky wants to protest, but Joe immediately starts digging his fingers into the muscles of Nicky's lower back, and it feels so fucking good he can't bring himself to say a word. Instead, he fumbles at the button of his jeans until it finally pops open. He pulls his zipper down just as Joe finds a sensitive spot along his ribcage and drags his teeth over it.

Nicky sinks his fingers into Joe's hair, moaning and wondering how that mouth can make him feel so good and piss him off so much in the same half-hour.

Joe leans back, looking down at Nicky's fly spread open, but his cock still in his boxers. "I bet that aches, doesn't it, Nicky. Why don't you get it out for me."

"Why am I doing all the work?"

With one eyebrow up, Joe says, "I could stand up, dump you on the floor, and be sitting back at the dinner table before you got your zipper up." Nicky looks at his face and thinks that the way he's smirking now, Joe might do it just for the fun of watching Nicky land on his ass. The little dance Nicky has to do to get his jeans down, his boxers down, and his cock out isn't graceful, but it gets the job done. Joe hums his approval into Nicky's skin, but for a few minutes, he pays Nicky's cock no mind at all.

The cool air of the room feels good against Nicky's heated skin, and he can feel where his cock is getting wet at the tip. Part of him wants to make demands, but the rest is lost to the sensation of Joe's sucking kisses covering his chest. Some of those kisses will leave little pinprick bruises, and Nicky refuses to think about looking at them in the mirror on Monday morning and pressing on them, feeling that lingering soreness.

"I'm literally sitting here with my dick in the breeze."

Joe bites down, and Nicky hisses, tightening his fingers. "Hands out of my hair," Joe says.

"What?"

"Mine doesn't just flop back into place like yours does, and if you fuck it up, it's going to be painfully obvious to everyone in that dining room what we've been doing in here." He drops his hands to Joe's shoulders. "Better," Joe says. Gripping Nicky's hips, he tilts them just a little. It's enough to send Nicky pitching forward.

His fingers tighten on Joe's shoulders to keep his balance, and they keep tightening as he feels Joe's mouth close over his left nipple.

"Shit," he whispers. "Shit, Joe." It's so quiet it might almost be nothing but a breath, but he can feel Joe's pleased hum against his skin.

One of Joe's hands slides up Nicky's back, coming to rest, fingers splayed wide, between his shoulder blades. It feels—Nicky doesn't want to think about that. He doesn't want to think that it feels a bit like being held because it can't be. That's not something they do.

The sudden heat of Joe's other hand wrapping around Nicky's cock has him gasping again. Joe starts stroking him, smooth and steady, relentless. This. This is what they do.

He tries his best to keep his hands out of Joe's hair, but when Joe drags his teeth over the nipple he's been licking, Nicky's hands clutch at the back of his neck, fingers toying with the ends of the hair there. If he's mostly successful at keeping his hands from wandering into Joe's curls, he doesn't even try to keep from burying his face in them when Joe swipes his thumb over the exposed head of Nicky's cock.

When Joe switches sides with his mouth, sucking hard at Nicky’s other nipple, it’s more than Nicky can bear in silence. As quietly as he can, he keens into the cloud of Joe’s hair, lost in the sensations of Joe’s mouth and hands. Any other night, in any other place, he might try to drag this out, but as soon as Nicky feels his climax start to tug at his balls, he whispers, “Joe. Fuck, Joe.”

Sucking like it’s punctuation at the end of a sentence, Joe pulls back a little and kisses the skin he’d just been tormenting. “You close?” Nicky nods against Joe’s head.

“Go on, then. I’ve got you.” He starts stroking again, sucking again, Nicky feels his teeth and has to bite down on his lip to keep the moan quiet. 

“Joe, I’m going—Fuck, baby—” Before he can finish his thought, he’s coming into the palm of Joe’s hand cupped over the head of Nicky’s cock. He can feel the aftershocks in the tips of his fingers. When Joe has pulled out the last traces of his orgasm, Nicky snatches a couple of tissues from the box on his desk, and passes them to Joe so he can wipe his hand clean. Sitting back, Nicky feels his ass grind against Joe’s erection, keeping his eyes on Joe’s as he does. “Now, about you. What should—” Sharp rapping on the door startles them both. Their heads whip around to make sure the door is locked as Nicky jumps backward, stuffing himself back into his jeans.

“Nicky?” Someone volunteered Bianca to come find them, poor girl.

“Yeah?”

“You guys haven’t killed each other have you?”

“No,” says Joe as he stands up, patting at his clothes to make sure everything’s in order. “We were just working some stuff out.” Nicky throws him a glare, but Joe won’t meet his eyes.

Joe says, “Which one is that?" His voice is pitched so that only Nicky can hear it.

"What do you mean? You’ve had multiple conversations with her."

"Nicky, I know she’s the one in college, the one studying machine learning, it’s her name I don’t know. The only ones I can’t tell apart by sight are the twins, but I’m still learning everyones’ names."

“Thanks for coming to get us, Bianca," Nicky says. “Sorry, we didn’t realize how long we’d been talking.

Taking a step forward, Nicky is stopped by Joe’s hand in the crook of his elbow. “Hey,” Joe says, his voice low and deadly serious in a way Nicky hasn’t heard it before. There’s no anger, just absolute certainty. “Don’t say it again.”

Nicky doesn’t have to ask, he knows. The first time he said it still sits under his skin like a splinter and runs through his head at the worst times. Joe’s right. It’s better for them both if that word stays with Nicky’s inside voice. He nods and reaches for the door.

Bianca’s face is absolutely straight. “Hey kiddo,” he says.

One of her eyebrows goes up, and he deeply, deeply regrets teaching her that trick. She drops her eyes, pointedly, and Nicky realizes that the reason he’d miraculously escaped zipping his cock into his jeans while he was flailing around just now is that he hadn’t zipped them at all.

Remedying that situation, Nicky gives Bianca a one-shouldered shrug. She sighs, her lips pinched together so she keeps her stern expression in place, but Nicky can see where she’s fighting a smile. “Nice night for it," she says, then smirks and heads back to the dining room. So that’s settled. She won’t say anything, but he’s going to owe her one at some point.

As they pass the bathroom, Joe asks, “How much shit is this going to cost us?"

"If I know Bianca? None, actually. She’ll just be glad to know for a fact that I’m a human being who does stupid shit sometimes."

“Sometimes?"

They were _this close_ to maybe finding some common ground. Nicky sighs.

Back in the dining room, Joe offers to help with the dishes and Nicky volunteers to clear the table. He brings the dishes in, setting them on the counter, but never once looks at Joe. On his third trip back in, he sees Viola standing and talking to Joe about some video game they both like.

She makes some point about the game mechanics and Joe throws his hands in the air so fast he flings soap bubbles across the room; Nicky barely escapes being splashed.

"Thank you, Olivia! No other gamers I know get upset about that and I find it so infuriating I won’t play that level again until they patch it."

Viola blinks at him, big green eyes looking hurt and a little sad.

"I’m Viola."

Joe looks absolutely stricken. “Oh man, I’m so sorry. I’m trying to get better. Is there a thing I should look for?"

She smiles and pats him on the shoulder. “It’s fine, really. We’ve been twins for twenty-two years, we’re used to it. Bianca’s girlfriend still gets us mixed up and they’ve been dating for three years."

"Tarek doesn’t get it wrong." Joe looks frustrated, like this should be easier.

"Oh, but Tarek’s perfect. Or have you not heard El say that eight thousand times?"

"He’s not remotely perfect, and someday I’ll get a chance to tell you a few of his more embarrassing stories."

"Nice!" She pats him again and walks out.

Nicky slides the stack of plates onto the counter. He picks up the tea towel and fiddles with the edge. Maybe it’s time to try again, and this time try it _not_ already in the middle of a fight.

"Tarek cheats.” He spends a second trying to think of a worse way he could have started this conversation, but comes up blank.

"Excuse me?" Joe looks offended on behalf of his entire family.

Nicky calms himself and tries again. "I meant when it comes to telling the twins apart. He cheats. Or at least he used to, in the early days."

Joe scans his face, taking stock of everything he sees. Nicky lets Joe take the measure of both him and his sincerity.

"How?"

"I told him what I’m about to tell you." He folds the tea towel and drops it back on the counter. “Viola picks at her nail polish. They both love doing wild things with their nails, but Viola’s never stays pristine for more than a few hours. So if you’re ever unsure, look at their hands."

The furrow between Joe’s brows deepens. “Why would you tell _me_ that?"

Shoving both hands in his pockets. “They are my sisters, and I love them, but—Let’s just say it’s more fun to watch them be surprised that you got it right than it is to watch you get frustrated trying to guess."

"There’s something more fun than watching me get frustrated? I’m surprised, I’d never have guessed that from how often you seem to do it just for fun." Joe doesn’t look angry, but his defenses are definitely up.

Nicky’s hands clench into fists. “If that’s how you want to read that remark, god forbid I try to stop you." His voice is getting louder than he’d like, but damn this man gets under his skin. He turns to walk out, stopping at the door to toss one last shot over his shoulder. “I fucking tried, okay?"

Nicky hugs finds an excuse to be in the back yard when Joe leaves.

Ellie corners him as he’s coming back into the house. "Nicky?"

"El?"

"What is going on with you and Joe? I’ve never seen you like that around anyone."

Nicky rolls his neck, trying to get rid of some of the tension. “He just—He gets under my skin."

"So did Bianca for most of her early teens, and you never once spoke to her the way you did to Joe tonight."

He starts to say that Bianca hadn’t been doing it on purpose like Joe is, but that’s not true. She’d picked at every open wound she could find.

"We don’t always get along with everyone we meet, El."

"Nicky, if you guys can’t keep it together around the dinner table, how are you going to get along in the lead up to the wedding? Are you going to be yelling at him before you walk me up the aisle? Is there going to be a screaming match at the reception?"

"Elena, you know I would never do that."

"I knew that. I knew you were someone who could control his temper and be kind even to people who were getting on your last nerve. I don’t know who that was tonight." Her eyes turn pleading. “Nicky, I’ve got so many things to focus on, please help me by not making one more."

It feels like someone’s punched Nicky in the gut. “I’m sorry, El. Text me his number. We’ll fix it. I’m sorry." He folds her into a hug and kisses her on the top of her head.

Nicky figures he’ll wait until the morning and text Joe after his coffee kicks in. He doesn’t count on spending yet another night dreaming about Joe. This time, instead of Joe, spread beneath him and pleading, Nicky dreams they’re standing in opposite corners of an empty room, screaming at each other. What they’re yelling about doesn’t even make any sense. At first Nicky is yelling at Joe for forgetting something important, then Joe is yelling back at him about being mean. Eventually, they’re just screaming everyday observations at each other.

He wakes up at 3, his jaw clenched shut so hard he’s given himself a headache. He reads for a couple of hours, one of his usual suspect books, the ones that always feel like a balm to the soul. Finally, when the sky is starting to turn light at the horizon, Nicky drifts off again.

Naturally, when his alarm wakes him, he’s a wreck. He’s exhausted and tense an his skin feels too tight. It’s times like this he wishes he’d stuck with the yoga classes Viola had dragged him to. Instead, he does a few laps of his apartment building, goes down the block and back, just trying to work off some of the energy he can feel vibrating under his skin. It works, mostly.

Realizing that it’s still too early to assume Joe is up, Nicky waits until his next free time to send a message. The way Nicky’s days go, that turns out to be the end of the school day when all the kids have left. He sits in one of the little chairs by the low tables, aware of how absurd he must look, and pulls out his phone.

> Nicky: _It’s Nicky. I need to talk to you about something._

> Joe: _This better be good_

> Nicky: _Elena gave me your number so we could help resolve a problem she’s having._

Nicky gets nothing for a full five minutes. During that time he packs up his bag and heads out to his car. He sees the indicator that Joe is typing pop up from time to time but no messages come through for long enough that Nicky thinks Joe might have already blocked his number. Finally, as he’s buckling his seatbelt, his phone chirps with an incoming message.

> Joe: _I’m expecting you to delete this contact information once we’re finished dealing with whatever this problem is._

> Nicky: _Agreed. Phone call or in person?_

> Joe: _y not text?_

> Nicky: _Our tone wouldn’t come through, and that might make the problem worse._

> Joe: _Whatever. FaceTime?_

> Nicky. _Agreed. 1900? I’ll call you?_

Joe replies with a thumbs up and Nicky sighs, sagging into his steering wheel like he’s just run a marathon.

He starts the call at exactly the promised time and Joe picks up like he’d been waiting. Nicky tries not to make snap judgements based on what’s in the background during video calls, especially since he doesn’t have a great track record of realizing something’s a virtual background until after the call is over, but with Joe, snap judgements seem the norm.

At first glance it looks like every converted loft apartment Nicky’s ever been in, but then he starts to notice the details. Bookshelves seem to line one entire wall of the place. There’s a chair with a fuzzy blanket draped over the back, and on the back wall hang several portraits of Joe’s family, all painted in the same style, possibly by the same artist. They’re exceptionally well done.

Perhaps, if he finally gets a chance to strangle Joe, Nicky can have his apartment.

Joe doesn’t bother with greetings. "So what’s this problem?"

"We are."

His brows drawn together in confusion, Joe asks, "As in the two of us?" Nicky nods. "What issue could they possibly have with us?"

"Apparently our attempts at public civility haven’t been very successful. Last night really didn’t help. Elena says she’s worried we won’t be able to get along during the other things we have to do, or at the wedding."

"She doesn’t think we can control our—"

"Joe. We have been doing a shit job of it so far, can you blame her?" Joe opens his mouth for what Nicky is sure will be a rebuttal that’s meant to kick off a debate, so Nicky holds one hand up. “Let’s just say that we could both have been better at keeping our cool and leave the blame for later."

"Fine. This is probably what Tarek left me voicemail about." He sighs and scrubs at his forehead with the heel of his hand. "So we have to not scream at each other."

"I think if we really want to put her mind at ease, we’re going to have to do more than that."

Joe looks horrified. "I’m not fucking you just to help your sister—"

"No, not that, but we should probably do our best to convince them we’re friends."

"The fucking would be easier." Nicky can’t argue the point, they really don’t seem to have a problem with it once they get started. It’s the before and after that are always a problem.

"Regardless, I’m willing to keep up that pretense for the next couple of months if you are. We only have to see each other a handful of times."

"Most of which will be stressful already and some of which will involve the bachelor party."

"I didn’t say it would be easy."

Joe drops his head into his hands and says, "Tell Ellie I’m sorry if I made her worry. Tell her I’d never do anything to disrupt their day, and—" Joe’s fingers tangle in his hair, tugging at it, and Nicky’s fingers itch with the urge to slide his fingers in right beside Joe’s. "And tell her we’ve made up and we’re friends now."

"Best friends?" Nicky smirks even though he really shouldn’t push it at this point. Old habits die hard.

"Piss off," Joe says, but there isn’t much heat behind it. The screen goes blank and Nicky hears the tones indicating the call has finished.

He mentally composes his note to Elena three times before deciding to just call her. Even her greeting sounds a little nervous.

"Hey, I just wanted to say again that I’m sorry. I spoke to Joe and we’ve figured a few things out. We’re making a fresh start, as friends this time."

"Oh Nicky, thank you. I know it mustn’t have been easy to work out your differences, but I appreciate you doing it for me. You really are the best big brother in the world."

"I would do anything for you or the rest of the gang, you know that."

"I do, and what’s more, I know the only times you’ve ever not carried through on something you promised were when the problem was something like your car getting stranded in the snow, or Olivia giving you the flu."

"Even then I tried."

"You did, we had to send you home before you made the rest of us sick." There’s a pause and then, "I love you, Nicolò."

"I love you too, El. Text or email me the details for the next thing, yeah?"

"I will."

After Nicky hangs up, he sits with the phone cradled in his hand and thinks about how much he hates having to lie to his family. In this case, though, it truly is for the best.


	5. i'm not yours for better, but for worse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the last few weeks, Joe's spent more time than he should have staring at his water bottle. He'd washed it after that moment in the bank parking lot when Nicky had sipped from it to rinse his mouth out. He'd even moved it from his car to his office to take it out of that context. Even so, every time he looks at it, he pictures Nicky's mouth on it.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This used to be my favorite chapter, but I have legitimately stared at it for so long that none of it even looks like words anymore. On the plus side, neither of them says anything to each other in this chapter that I wouldn’t say to my best friend’s face. (Of course, next week I’ll receive my customary Valentine’s Day greeting from her—a picture of a candy heart that says, ‘I fucking love you, bitch,’ so maybe that’s not the best barometer, eh?)

In the last few weeks, Joe's spent more time than he should have staring at his water bottle. He'd washed it after that moment in the bank parking lot when Nicky had sipped from it to rinse his mouth out. He'd even moved it from his car to his office to take it out of that context. Even so, every time he looks at it, he pictures Nicky's mouth on it.

He pictures _why_ Nicky put his mouth on that water bottle, and like an itch he can't scratch, he feels Nicky's hair between his fingers.

The first day with the water bottle on his desk had been the hardest. He'd randomly spaced out enough times that his deputy director had flashed him a sly look and asked, "Oooh, someone's distracted. Good date this weekend?"

Joe sat there with his mouth open, trying to figure out how to answer that question. Maybe, 'It wasn't a date. It wasn't good. Why am I still distracted?' He could have gone for flat denial, but somehow the words for that never came. He'd finally settled on, "No date, just helping Tarek and Ellie with some wedding stuff."

In a demonstration of the kind of intuitive people skills that got her the job in the first place, she'd just smiled and said, "I wish I'd been hanging out with you and Tarek. It would have made a nice change from the awful blind date I had on Saturday." She'd then spent twenty minutes detailing the shortcomings of her dinner companion. By the time she left his desk, Joe's face had hurt from laughing, and he felt like he could finally focus on his work.

Today, in the wake of that disastrous dinner and everything that came after, he's staring at the water bottle again.

In his defense, he _hadn't_ been flirting with Anders. He hadn't even thought Nicky was interpreting it that way; it was just obvious it irritated Nicky whenever Joe smiled at the guy, and how was Joe supposed to resist that? 'I should have resisted,' he thinks. Would they just have found something else to snap about? Maybe.

They both should have resisted getting into it at the table with other people around, but that hadn't worked out either. In his mind, he can see Nicky's room, can almost see them in it. That was reckless and stupid. It was inconsiderate, too, regardless of Ellie's reassurance that everyone had told embarrassing stories about them while they 'talked.'

Over Nicky's desk, there had been a cork board covered in pictures. Every one of them was Nicky with one of his sisters. In some, the girls were holding trophies and certificates and medals. Others showed them beaming from the finish line of a race or center stage, their faces heavy with theater makeup. Beside them, always, was Nicky.

His expression in almost all of the photos was the same, a huge, happy grin that Joe's not sure he's ever seen on Nicky's face in real life. It's sweet and a little crooked, the right side of his mouth dropping lower than the left, and speaks of how unguarded and joyful he was in each shot. It's completely different from the slight pinch Nicky's had to even his warmest smiles whenever Joe is in the room.

Tucked in the bottom left corner was a picture of Nicky, clearly still a teenager, surrounded by the three youngest girls. They were all dressed in Halloween costumes, the girls clutching empty bags, ready to go out for trick-or-treat time. Nicky was grinning at the camera from under a face of clown makeup and an impossibly huge red wig.

Joe has spent more time than he'd like to think about trying to reconcile the three versions of Nicky that seem to exist simultaneously. How is the man in the clown costume with the lopsided smile the same the man who'd accused him of making eyes at Anders, and how are they both the man whose voice Joe can still hear calling him 'baby.'

The problem, to put it in the simplest terms, is one of scalability. Could a Nicky who was a jerk fool Tarek into thinking he was a nice guy? Sure, for a while. Could he fool Tarek for the four years he's been in a relationship with Elena? Less likely. At some point, Nicky had even gone on holiday with the two of them. If anything were going to bring out his true colors, that would have been it.

Of course, it's impossible to argue that Nicky hadn't been a jerk. He'd been rude, obnoxious, and petty. Or, at least he'd said those words out loud. Even his side of that awful conversation around the table. That was an objective fact. What's throwing Joe for a loop is that Ellie saying to Joe, "I've never heard him speak that way," was _also_ an objective fact.

Joe wants to turn the problem over and over, but he's running late for yet another glad-handing lunch.

A few weeks later, when his mother calls to tell him they're having a combined family lunch so everyone can help Elena and Tarek address invitations, Joe is still no closer to an answer. Things might have continued like that forever, except one day, Joe's deputy director leans over his shoulder to point out something on a spreadsheet. Halfway through her explanation, she turns her head away to cough, but not fast enough.

The fourth time he messes up the same envelope and has to start over, his mother starts to fuss at him.

“Yusuf, you don’t have to be here.” Her voice sounds like it’s coming from underwater. “These aren’t even being mailed out for at least a week.”

“I’m fine, just need some sleep. I’ll go to bed early when I get home later.”

From the other end of the table, Nicky frowns at him. Joe shoots back the barest head shake. Don’t do this right now, Nicky. We’ve got appearances to keep up. Nicky shrugs as if to say, ‘suit yourself.’

Shaking his head had been a mistake—everything behind Joe’s eyes pulses and aches.

The fifth time’s the charm for that envelope, but the next one looks like it’s about to be a disaster, too. When Joe looks up from where he’s managed to spell Atlanta with four t’s, Nicky is standing beside him. “I think I speak for all of us when I say, you sound miserable. Also, there are a limited number of envelopes.”

All evidence to the contrary, Joe knows he’s not incompetent. He’s fully capable of writing addresses on envelopes. He looks up and tries to glare at Nicky; he really does, but then he remembers they’re supposed to be friends now. The look he’s met with isn’t that lopsided smile from the corkboard pictures, but it isn’t contempt either, only a wry amusement.

The warm weight of Nicky’s hand on his shoulder feels like a heating pad on his aching joints, and Joe almost moans out loud. It would probably be easier to deal with this man, easier to straighten out how they should interact with each other if his touch didn’t make Joe want to ask for more every single family time.

“I’m fine,” Joe says.

Nicky turns so that his back is to everyone but Joe and drops his voice to a murmur. “Hey, I'm sure you could stubborn your way through this if you wanted to, but your mother is worried, and my mom isn’t far behind her.” His voice is low enough that Joe is the only one who picks up all the words.

Joe coughs again. “I said I’m fine.”

Pretending to pick something hint up off the floor, Nicky speaks into Joe’s ear. “Do you _want_ to stay here and address envelopes?” Joe doesn’t have the strength to pretend, and the look on his face must betray that.

“Mama,” Nicky says. “I’m worried about Joe. Earlier this week, when we talked, I thought he was getting better, but it looks like it got worse again. I don’t want him to run himself down any further, and I don’t want you all to get sick, so I’m going to take him home if that’s okay?”

Joe stares at him, trying to parse that explanation. They haven’t spoken in at least three weeks. Some little voice inside whispers at him to play along. “I told you on Tuesday. I’m fine.”

Nicky rests his hand on Joe’s shoulder again, and it’s so wonderfully warm. Joe is doing his best not to arch up into the touch like a cat. “I’ll come back after I get him home,” Nicky says.

“No, no.” Ellie shakes her head. “I’d rather you make sure he’s settled and isn’t going to get worse. I'd hate for him to have pneumonia by the time the wedding comes.” Nicky’s mother nods in agreement.

Nicky looks uncertain, but Joe can tell it’s an act. There’s something about his tone and the way he’s fiddling with his keys in his pocket. Mentally, Nicky is halfway out the door. He makes one last effort, just so they'll insist on it. “Are you sure, El? Mama?” Is this how it feels to have all that cleverness working _for_ you rather than against you?

Looking at him from across the table, Nicky’s mother smiles beatifically and says, “He needs to be in bed, and you should get some rest, too. We don’t want both of you sick. Go, we have this under control. And we’ll be doing it again in a couple of days if you’re so anxious to help.”

Nicky nods. They say their goodbyes, and El blows kisses at them on their way to the door. Just before they leave, Nicky asks, “You have everything? Keys?” Joe pats his pockets like an absentminded professor and finds he’s listing to the left even as he’s trying to stand still. He might be sicker than he thought.

“I’m good.”

“I don’t know about that,” Nicky says. “But at least you’ll be able to get into your apartment.” He turns to Joe and winks, and judging by the look on his face, no one is more surprised by that than Nicky. “I’ll drive,” he says. His voice sounds a little distant like he’s got a million things on his mind.

Deciding not to push his luck, Joe says, “Sure.”

Expecting to get snapped at once they’re alone inside the car, Joe decides he’ll just rest his head against the window and conserve his strength for when it’s time to fight. The next thing he’s aware of is the warmth of Nicky’s hand on his elbow. “We’re here.”

Blinking, focusing, Joe realizes they’re in front of his apartment building, a place Nicky’s never been. “How do you know where I live?”

“I texted Ellie.”

Nicky walks behind him, making sure he’s heading in a straight line and that he doesn’t fall down the stairs and break his neck. If nothing else, that would make the bachelor party extremely awkward.

Joe stabs at the lock with his keys a few times before Nicky sighs and takes them out of his hand. Once inside, Joe thinks this is where he’d be embarrassed if he were any more lucid. His sink is full of dirty dishes, the whole place smells vaguely of cough drops and sweat, and either he’s left piles of used tissues everywhere, or his coffee table is doing an extreme form of molting. He’s heading for the kitchen when Nicky asks, “Where is your bathroom?”

Part of Joe is a little surprised Nicky didn’t leave as soon as Joe was in his apartment. Pointing in mostly the correct direction, Joe says, “Door on the left.”

“Good.” Nicky takes him by the shoulders and steers him into the bathroom. “I’m going to leave you in here, and I’m going to close the door. You’re going to take a shower because I promise you it will make you feel better.” He turns Joe, so they’re looking directly into each other’s eyes. “Know this: if you slip and knock yourself unconscious in your own shower, I will never let you live it down.”

Joe pats his arm. “You’re a prince, Nico.”

Nicky looks startled, as though that’s a name he would never have expected Joe to use. “Right. Shower. I’m going now.”

The worst part about being fussed over like he’s a helpless child is that Nicky is absolutely right. The shower works all the aches out of Joe’s joints, and the steam clears his head a little. When he walks to his room, his towel slung around his waist, he almost feels like lukewarm roadkill instead of hammered death.

Deciding that if he’s going to wallow, he should at least be comfortable, Joe pulls on his favorite old pajama pants and a t-shirt so threadbare he could probably read through it. (It’s so soft; he loves it. Every time his mother comes over, she tries to throw it away, and Joe has to fish it out of the trash and wash it. Joke’s on her though, that just makes it softer.)

Finding Nicky still there when he comes out of his bedroom is entirely unexpected. So is the condition of his apartment. Nicky has thrown the used tissues away, the empty take-out containers too. The sink is empty of dirty dishes, and the blanket is folded and draped over the couch again. Nicky’s taken the opportunity to open the windows and get a little air in, though he’s closed them by the time Joe comes out, so the musty smell is gone. It feels like a home against instead of like the den of a slightly-consumptive bear.

“You don’t have to take care of me. I’m not one of your students.”

“Oh, believe me, I know that. Most of them don’t have a problem admitting they’re sick.” He stops and looks at Joe’s feet, an odd expression flitting across his face. “Though, you and my kindergartners do seem to share the same opinion about whether or not socks should match.”

Joe looks down, wiggling his toes and noticing for the first time that one sock is white and the other is gray with blue stripes.

He tries to grumble, but his head is starting to hurt again.

“I take it you prefer the couch to your bed while you’re sick?”

“No TV in the bedroom.”

“Sit, then.” Nicky’s hand against the small of his back is the kind of sensation Joe will be picking apart for days after, but for now, he just goes where Nicky steers him.

Joe nests himself into the corner of the couch and reaches for the new box of tissues on the coffee table. After he blows his nose, he can smell again for a miraculous second, and what he smells is incredible. “Are you cooking?”

One of Nicky’s shoulders raises in a shrug. “I promised Ellie I’d make sure you were settled and weren’t going to make yourself worse. That includes making sure you have something to eat that isn’t freezer pizza or whatever was in that red pan. You’re going to want to throw that pan out, by the way. It’s not salvageable. So, yes. I’m cooking.” He wipes his hands on his jeans, then stuffs them in his pockets. “You had workable ingredients, and you were in the shower for a while. It won’t be ready for a bit, so why don’t you just lay there and try not to make yourself worse or irritate me.” The words are there, but the tone sounds wrong. He’s heard it before, but he can’t remember where. Joe files that away to think about later. If he remembers.

He's trying to formulate a retort, but he can't make his brain put the words in an appropriately scathing order. Instead, he pulls the blanket around himself and glowers at Nicky, who raises one eyebrow and looks completely unbothered. He must drift off again because Joe wakes himself by coughing. Nicky is standing by the side of the sofa, looking for all the world like he's waiting for Joe to finish with his amateur dramatics. Joe coughs one more time just for emphasis and manages to set himself off again.

Nicky rolls his eyes.

When the coughing fit is well and truly finished, Joe closes his eyes. A second later, he feels a positively blissful coolness on his face. When the coolness moves, Joe realizes it's Nicky's hand resting against his cheeks and then his forehead. Joe tries, he really does, but the happy little sigh that escapes him can't be helped. The coolness disappears, and Joe frowns but still doesn't open his eyes. A few minutes later, he feels it again, this time from a tea towel that's been soaked in water and folded up before being draped over his forehead. Nicky's fingers are there again, too, soothing Joe's flushed cheeks.

"I don't like how warm you are. Stay awake for just a minute."

He disappears, and Joe idly wonders where he's gone. He wonders, too, why Nicky is being so nice to him. 'I bet he's like this with his students. I bet they love him.' The thought wanders into Joe's head, but before he can look closely at it, it's gone again. For the first time in days, his joints aren't sore, and the couch is so comfortable. It takes him a long time to blink. He's supposed to stay awake, though. Why is he supposed to stay awake again?

Nicky sits on the coffee table, right in Joe's line of sight. Oh yeah. That's why.

"Take these," Nicky says, handing Joe two white tablets. He recognizes them as his usual pain relief medication, and supposes they'll probably also help with the fever. "These were the ones in your medicine cabinet, so I guessed they were ones you were okay taking." Joe sits there for a second with the tablets on his tongue, looking around for a glass of water. When Nicky twists the bottle open, holding it out for him to take, Joe is momentarily confused. "Bottles are easier if you're sick. Less chance of it getting spilled. I'll put the cap back on when you're finished."

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Between the exhaustion and the mouth full of water and pills, it comes out as a barely-intelligible mumble. No response is forthcoming, but Joe thinks he might hear Nicky sigh.

This is... nice. While Joe never needed to take care of his siblings like Nicky, he had used self-reliance and competence as a way of earning respect. Even today, when they're all adults with their own accomplishments and successes (and failures), Joe still fights the instinct to refuse help.

Left to his own devices, he'd have gotten over this cold and been back to his usual self eventually, but it will be nice to do it in an apartment that doesn't look like a Kleenex avalanche buried the sofa. And all it took was a little well-intentioned, good-natured bullying from the only person Joe knows more invested than he is in being competent and capable.

Just before he drifts off again, Joe imagines the feel of Nicky's hand on his head, but has no reasonable explanation for why he'd been hallucinating that specific sensation.

It must be well into the evening the next time he wakes up. The light coming through the windows is dim but not dark, and the sound of traffic coming from the street isn't as loud as it is during the day. One thing that hasn't changed, though—Nicky is still here. He's tried to curl up in one of Joe's chairs, and the position he's forced his lanky body into is deeply amusing to Joe.

It seems like Nicky is made of nothing but elbows and knees and the flop of hair across his forehead. Joe manages to keep the laughing silent but isn't so lucky with the coughing fit that results from the laughing. Nicky startles, and Joe briefly wonders if he's going to elbow himself in the forehead.

"The one by the door is more comfortable for reading in." He pauses long enough to put his thought together. "Why are you still here?"

Nicky rolls his eyes and doesn't bother to answer. He pads into the kitchen area and ladles something from a big pot into a deep bowl. As Nicky comes closer, Joe catches hints of lemon and pepper and wonders how much has to be in there for him to be able to smell it even as stuffed up as he is.

"Eat that. Don't argue."

Not being able to smell steals some of the enjoyment of the soup, but even still, Joe knows this tastes amazing. Taking as deep a breath as he can without setting off another coughing fit, Joe decides now is as good a time as any to try some civility.

"This is very good. Thank you."

Nicky looks like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop, so Joe will sit here as long as it takes for him to parse the words and see there's no hidden intent. Before either of them can say anything more, the doorbell buzzes. Joe tries to paw his way out of his blanket cocoon, but Nicky holds out a hand.

"Sit," he says. "I've got it."

When he comes back, he's got two carrier bags in each hand. Joe watches as Nicky puts away the groceries he apparently bought while Joe was asleep.

"You didn't have to do that; I _had_ food."

Nicky fills a bowl on the counter with oranges. "Yes, but now you have good food, and you won't show up to the wedding with scurvy." There's that tone again. Joe files it away with the other instance.

"It couldn't have been _so_ terrible if you found enough acceptable food to make soup."

Nicky puts the last of the boxes into the freezer and picks his keys up off the counter. He surveys the coffee table, his gaze resting on the box of tissues, the bottle of ginger ale, the blanket Joe has wrapped around him, and the soup bowl, still partially full. Whatever he sees must be acceptable because he turns then to look at Joe.

"Soup is easy. I helped raise my sisters while mom went back to school and held down a full-time job. I can make soup out of anything." His tone is entirely neutral, almost businesslike. He pats his back pocket to make sure he's got his phone. "I asked Elena and Tarek to drop your car off on their way home. Good night, Joe."

Nicky is out the door before Joe recovers enough to say goodbye.

The thing is, he already _knew_ that part. He'd just never heard it put quite that plainly. When Ellie talks about her youth, that information is there, but it's peppered in among enough other things that Joe's brain never quite hooked onto the edge of that reality.

Once, when discussing big families, she'd said, "I want kids, but I'm not sure I want a LOT of kids. It was exhausting just watching Nicky get to everyone's activities every weekend." Another time, when they were talking about the kinds of games kids make up to play when they're bored, she'd chimed in with, "Sometimes while we were waiting to have money to buy groceries again, we'd try to see what was the weirdest collection of leftovers we could turn into a new meal."

Hearing it as just a statement of fact hits very, very differently. Joe starts plucking at threads from other conversations with Nicky's mother and sisters, assembling the bones of their reality in those years. They'd had the house, but from a couple of things Mia said during that dinner, it's now apparent the only reason they were able to stay is that their mother got the house in the divorce. There hadn't been a lot of financial support from their father. It's possible there hadn't been _any._ Sometime around Ellie's ninth birthday, they'd found themselves having to band together and lean on one another. It had been the di Genovas against the world.

He flashes back to all those pictures on that corkboard, all those times it had been them as a team. Somewhere in the back of his muzzy head, a thought flits by—those pictures had all been Nicky celebrating the girls' triumphs with them; none of them were the other way around.

Ellie never talked about Nicky as though he were a father figure, and from the way Nicky is with his mother, it's clear that's not the role he took, but he was their rock. For a second, Joe has the clearest image of Nicky at sixteen, sitting at the table with the twins, helping them do their homework. The table is still scattered with the dishes from the dinner Nicky cooked. It couldn't be more different from the image of Nicky that Joe constructed from their encounters.

Not to mention the fact that they just spent hours together without snapping at each other with any real malice. They haven't ever behaved that well. Not even that first night in the club when—There it is. That tone of voice he couldn't pinpoint earlier. It was the same tone Nicky had used to say, 'You didn't have to come up here,' to his friend. That's how Nicky speaks to his friends when he's enjoying the interaction but doesn't want to show it.

Nothing fits anymore. Thinking he'll distract himself with some mindless TV, Joe gets himself another bowl of soup from the containers of leftovers that Nicky put in the refrigerator. The remote is right next to him on the couch, right where Nicky had left it, but Joe never reaches for it. Instead, he finishes his dinner and pulls the blanket around himself, mentally twisting these two jigsaw puzzle pieces, trying to make them go together somehow.

Tarek was never going to have some kind of traditional bachelor party, not some wild night on the town with strippers and drinks. For one thing, he doesn't drink, and for another, he'd probably end up talking to the strippers about their masters' theses or something. He's just that type.

Instead, he decides he wants to spend a weekend with the people who've so patiently been dealing with this wedding nonsense for months. It will be his two groomsmen, Amir and Tyler, and Joe as the best man. And Nicky.

A few days before the trip, Joe gets an email from Tarek saying that Nicky has offered to bring food and to cook a few meals. Like always, Joe's first instinct is to refuse, to insist he can handle this. Then he remembers the morning after Nicky brought him home and how nice it had been to wake up and find orange juice in the refrigerator. He thinks about how uncomfortable he'd feel spending the weekend with people and not pitching in. It would probably make someone like Nicky, someone so prone to being defensive and assuming the worst, even more on edge. On the other hand, when Joe sat back and let Nicky fuss, he'd been much easier to get along with.

He types out a quick answer to Tarek. _That sounds like a great idea._

For a second, he even believes it.


	6. i'll give you plenty of nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pulling his favorite hoodie from the back of the desk chair, Nicky stuffs it into his bag. He's going to make it through this weekend, even if it kills him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, huddle up. My big bang story goes live on Monday. I'm *hoping* (and planning) to have another chapter of this up Saturday evening, but I'm not 100% sure that'll happen. If it doesn't, the next chapter of this will go up Tuesday. 
> 
> So here's the deal, on Saturday, if it looks like the chapter isn't gonna make it, I'll update the end notes of this chapter to add a snippet just as a thank-you for your patience. I'll take it out once chapter 7 goes up.
> 
> (also the art for the big bang story? omg you guys it's amazing!)

"I just don't understand this urge some people have to sprawl this out into a huge separate event."

"Listen to me, Nicolò. If Tarek gets a weekend with his friends, then I do too, and neither of us gets to complain about the other's. So if you're not doing it for him, do it for me, and the weekend I'd like to have."

Nicky sighs. "I'm just glad it's not strippers."

"I'm sure he'd have gotten a couple of guys in there for you and Joe and Tyler if you'd asked nicely. The sexy cop thing doesn't play like it used to, but maybe there's a sexy librarian offering."

"You're a terrible sister."

Ellie's laugh rings down the line, and Nicky can't help but grin. "I'm the best sister you have."

"You're certainly in the top five."

"Play nice and don't let anyone break a leg or something."

Nicky's known the bachelor party was coming for weeks now, but that doesn't mean he's any more at ease than he was when this all started. The last encounter with Joe had been... unsettling. Being there for his people is what Nicky does; he just hadn't expected Joe to somehow fall under the heading of "his people."

The worst part is how normal it had felt to be able just to be there. To make sure Joe had food and a shower and got some rest. He'd found himself ordering the groceries without even really thinking about it, on some kind of caregiver autopilot.

As it often did when his hands were busy, Nicky's mind had wandered. A tiny part of him looked at the food as he was putting it away, at the spoons and knives as he was using them, and wondered what Joe looked like when he was in here cooking. If Joe had been awake, would he have come into the kitchen to steal a little of the chicken off the cutting board?

It wasn't until he saw the look on Joe's face upon waking that Nicky had started to question what he was doing.

Now he's got the memory of how comfortable it had felt to be taking care of Joe, and right next to it is the memory of Joe's face, soft with sleep, looking up at him. Because it's impossible for them just to let something good go unpunished, Joe had taken the opportunity at the end to take a dig at Nicky for being a food snob. Still, it was clear his heart wasn't in it, and there hadn't been any real bite behind the bark. There was every opportunity, and maybe even a little justification, for Nicky to bark back. He hadn't, though. They'd somehow made it through an entire day without tearing a piece off each other, and Nicky had wanted to keep it that way.

The thought of retaliating with a sarcastic comment about Joe's housekeeping had been there, but it felt exhausting even to consider it. He just hadn't had it in him to put up all his walls and start firing from the battlements. The remark about helping raise his sisters had maybe been a little heavy-handed, but right that second, Nicky wasn't willing to let Joe jump to even one more conclusion.

Nicky roots around in his closet, looking for another warm shirt and his left hiking boot. The shirt he finds hanging between two coats, the boot he finds stuffed in a corner under some other shoes.

Now he's facing the prospect of a weekend in the woods with Joe, Tarek, and two of Tarek's best friends. Nicky's volunteered to do most of the cooking, if only because he hopes it'll give him some time alone in the kitchen.

The image of Joe, sleepy and soft, comes to him again. It's always been true that as long as he wasn't talking, Joe was exactly Nicky's type. Now he knows the same is true if Joe is talking and not being a jerk. So, where do they go from here?

They don't go anywhere. This isn't a friendship. The two of them are putting on this display to keep their siblings happy until the wedding is over. Nicky's really looking forward to that day. He is.

He _is._

Pulling his favorite hoodie from the back of the desk chair, Nicky stuffs it into his bag. He's going to make it through this weekend, even if it kills him.

One of the few saving graces of having the weekend far from town is that Nicky gets to make the drive by himself. The house Joe rented for them all is a couple of hours from town, so Nicky uses the time to listen to some of his favorite music, catch up on a podcast he loves. He needs to center himself. This was going to be hard enough dealing with a man he wanted to fuck and slap in equal measure; now he has to be in an enclosed space with someone who unsettles him and makes him second-guess everything.

To Joe's credit, the house is amazing. It's perched on the side of a hill with views of the rolling hills around it. There's an enormous deck coming off the back and below it a leveled spot where a fire ring and some chairs are waiting. There is at least one fireplace, and Nicky thinks that if he were going to become a hermit, this is exactly the kind of place he'd want to do it.

Tarek greets him with a big hug. "Joe's out back grabbing some firewood. Let me show you to your room."

Nicky's sure the decor in his room is lovely because all the decor in the house is lovely, but he's only paying attention to one thing. Most of his room's back wall is windows, and they all look out over hills and trees just starting to go red with the season. It's facing the right direction for the sunset, and Nicky can already imagine how beautiful it will look.

"Yeah," Tarek says as he takes in Nicky's expression. "It's not terrible." He pats Nicky's back. "See you in the kitchen in a few?" Nicky nods, and Tarek squeezes his shoulder before walking out the door.

There's no point in doing any serious unpacking, they'll only be here for a couple of days, but Nicky does take out his toiletry kit and put his books on the nightstand. The bed isn't huge, but it looks insanely comfortable, and it's high enough that Nicky is sure you can see out the windows without sitting up.

For a few minutes, he stands with his hands in his pockets, looking out over the hills. Maybe Tarek will let him just spend the entire weekend in here. From the kitchen, he hears Joe and Tarek laughing. Time to face the music.

He's expecting the kitchen to look like something out of a design magazine, but instead, it's well-appointed and homey. Some things match, but not everything and Nicky feels like he won't have to handle everything with kid gloves for fear of damaging it. Someone, and Nicky's confident he knows who, has brought in all the groceries Nicky had stowed in his trunk. A few bags are still on the counter, and Joe is standing in front of the open refrigerator putting vegetables in a drawer.

At first, Nicky can feel the skin on his neck prickle with irritation. He's fully capable of unloading his own car. Biting his tongue, he lets that feeling pass. They're supposed to be friends now, and helping unload your car after you've gone to the trouble of buying food for the weekend is the kind of thing a friend would do. Besides, he hadn't tidied Joe's apartment and cooked for him because he thought Joe was too incompetent to take care of himself when he was sick; it had just been nice to help. Nicky's not sure if unloading the car is something _Joe_ would do for his _real_ friends, but he can see that the appropriate reaction here is to be grateful.

Rolling his shoulders, Nicky puts on his "Joe is my friend" mask and walks into the kitchen.

"You didn't have to do that, thank you."

Something passes behind Joe's eyes. "I know. I did it because I wanted to. Thank you for bringing the food." Joe swallows, and Nicky wonders if this is as awkward for him as it is for Nicky. "Tarek says you've offered to cook a few meals."

"Yes."

"I'm sure they'll be nice."

They stand in silence for a second until Tarek says, "So who's cooking tonight?"

"I am," Nicky says. "Pizza, probably."

Tarek laughs. "You're leaning hard into that Italian stereotype, Nicky."

Nicky manages to tear his eyes away from Joe and smile at Tarek. "Laugh it up now. We'll see how much you're joking about it later after you've tried the pizza."

Joe opens his mouth, but whatever he was going to say is lost to the sound of two men barreling through the door together, laughing.

Tarek thumps the counter. "The rest of the troublemakers are here."

Tyler and Amir have been friends of Tarek's since high school, and they're the only other people he wanted here for this weekend. Nicky's been entertaining himself with fanciful notions of what these two must be like, but they are, as he knew they would be, just ordinary guys.

"Nice to meet you," Tyler says, holding out his hand. Nicky shakes it, smiling back at him. Tyler is tall and broad-shouldered with a firm grip and a devious grin. Amir's large brown eyes are kind, and his smile is charming, but he seems quiet and reserved. Nicky suspects that's just a front. When they start telling stories, Nicky isn't surprised to find that Amir is the instigator in all the best ones. Eventually, they all drift off to the couch to watch TV and swap more stories. Nicky stays in the kitchen and pulls out the dough and sauce he'd made the night before.

With that resting on the counter, Nicky starts to pull out all the toppings. He doesn't hear Joe come in, so his, "Is there something I can do to help," startles Nicky as he tries to stand up, and he bangs his head on the door of the freezer.

"Shit!"

Joe, by some miracle, isn't laughing at him. "I didn't mean to surprise you."

"It's fine. I'm fine. I don't—" Nicky sighs. Tarek is watching them from the sofa, and Nicky knows this isn't the time to be petulant. "What were you saying?"

"I asked if there was something I could do to help."

Nicky tries on a smile. "There's a pizza stone in my trunk. Can you please bring it in and put it in the oven?" Joe nods.

"Sure."

Nicky's gaze flicks over to Tarek, who is smiling back with what seems like relief. That smile reminds him why putting up this front is worth the effort.

Declining any further help, Nicky arranges everything and sprinkles a layer of cornmeal on some parchment paper before pushing one of the dough balls out into a roughly circular shape. Now, he supposes, is the time to become one of the crew instead of just the cook.

"Alright, starving masses, come get some food."

Tyler makes it to the island first, having jumped straight over the back of the sofa. The others aren't far behind.

"Okay, because he got here first, Tyler gets to make the first one, but we're all splitting them when they come out." Nicky thinks he's never sounded more like a kindergarten teacher in his life. From the look on Joe's face, it's clear someone else came to that conclusion too. Before Joe can mock him, Nicky turns and grabs another ball of dough.

Seeing a disaster in the making, Nicky raps the back of Tyler's hand with a wooden spoon hard enough for him to drop the ladle back into the bowl. "Not too much sauce! Trust the Italian!"

When the toppings are all in place, he shows them how to slide the pizza onto the stone and sets the timer. "Don't touch the oven until that goes off." He brandishes the spoon again and notes that none of them look anything other than amused.

By the time the second pizza is in the oven and Tyler is slicing the first, Joe looks up from where he's picking toppings and says with a perfectly straight face, "Where's the pineapple, Nicky?"

Flinching back like he's been struck, Nicky just looks at Joe for a second before putting every bit of derision he can muster into saying, "Piss. Off."

Tyler's laugh is the giggle of an excited toddler, and it's so incongruous on a man that size that Nicky can't help but grin. The thing is, he didn't mean it to be a dig at Joe in the way they're both used to. Nicky would have used that tone with anyone who suggested putting pineapple on a pizza he made them. Everyone, Tarek and Joe included, seems to understand that.

Tarek is laughing along with his friends and Joe—Joe is looking at his brother with a smile that is nothing but open, warm affection.

Coming here was a terrible idea.

They agree to finish eating out by the fire, and Tyler and Amir wander off to find something to wipe down the chairs.

"I'm just going to go light the—"Joe gestures toward the back yard.

"Right," Tarek says. As Joe is walking away, Tarek tosses out, "Firestarter sticks are by the back door."

"Fuck you," Joe calls back in the same tone he'd have used to say 'Sure thing.'

Tarek snickers and turns to Nicky. "He gets pissy if he thinks we're insulting his fire skills."

"Did he try to burn the house down at some point?"

Shaking his head, Tarek pulls a slice of bell pepper from a bowl and eats it raw. "Nah. Joe's the outdoorsman of the family."

Nicky stares at him. Tarek might as well have said, "Joe's the circus bear of the family," for all the sense his words made. Laughing at Nicky's expression, Tarek says, "At some point, Joe decided he'd be 'the guy who could do things' and ever since then, he's worked to be good at everything he tries. Including all the mountain man stuff. He likes being the one who can help when no one else can, being useful. I think he got hooked on how it felt to have me and Anisa come to him for help when we were younger." He snags another piece of pepper. "You'll see."

When the last two pizzas come out, Nicky slices them, and everyone carries what's left of the food out into the back yard. There's a cheery fire going in the outdoor pit and a half-circle of chairs around it. The plate of pizza makes the rounds, and for a few minutes, they're all quiet as they watch the sunset and enjoy their dinner.

They stay outside for another hour or so, watching the fire burn and trading stories. Tarek manages to get Nicky to tell a couple of embarrassing stories about Elena, and Nicky picks the two he thinks will land him in the least amount of shit.

"Fair's fair, you owe me an embarrassing sibling story," Nicky says. Tarek laughs, but Joe looks absolutely terrified. He visibly calms as Tarek launches into a story about Anisa trying to rescue a stray dog that turned out to be a fox. Nicky laughs until he cries, and when he looks up, he sees Joe staring at him like he's never seen Nicky before.

Back in the house, everyone grabs a drink, and Tarek puts on a favorite movie. It's some action film with a seemingly unlimited ammunition budget. Nicky is looking at the TV, but he's not really watching the movie. He keeps thinking back to Tarek saying Joe is the outdoorsman of their family, that he likes being useful. Nicky doesn't think of himself as someone who has trouble changing his mind. Being able to adjust your perspective is a sign of growth and maturity.

That being said, he really hates learning there might be other sides to Joe. It's disconcerting, it makes interacting with him even more confusing, and it puts an unflattering light on—well, on _most_ of Nicky's behavior with Joe so far.

"I think I might head to bed," Nicky says when they're about halfway through the movie. "My day started pretty early, and kids will wear you out."

A general chorus of goodnight and 'see you in the morning' is the reply from most of the men in the room. When Nicky dares a look, he sees that Joe is frowning at him. As soon as his eyes meet Nicky's, Joe immediately turns back to the TV.

Nicky expects he'll be up for hours mulling over his day. Instead, he's asleep almost before his head hits the pillow.

"What are we doing here?" Joe says.

Nicky looks around at the space around them. It's a nondescript room that could be anywhere in the world.

"No," Joe sighs. "What are _we_ doing _here?"_ With one hand, he gestures back and forth between the two of them.

"Talking."

"We both know that's not true. Who are you, Nicky?"

He wants to let a little sneer into his voice, wants to slip back into old habits, but he only sounds confused and a little sad when he says, " _Me?_ Who the hell are you?"

"I'm just me," Joe says.

"And who is that? The guy who bitches about my clothes in the club? Or maybe you're the man who lets me cook for him when he's sick? Hmm? Are you the Joe who snaps at me so much that our families think we're going to ruin their wedding? Because he's nothing like the guy who puts his hands in my hair when he comes in my mouth. And _neither_ of those people is the one from the first night when you—"

Joe's got his hands on his hips. "When I what, Nicolò?"

Flinching back, Nicky shakes his head. "No. You don't get to call me that. Family gets to call me Nicolò. Or friends. Not whatever messed up, confusing thing is happening here."

"So I'll go back to my first question. What are we doing here?"

Nicky leans back against the couch—where did the couch come from?—and folds his arms. "I don't know anymore. Why couldn't you just stay that asshole?"

"Is that why you're upset? Or are you mad because maybe I haven't ever been just that asshole?" Joe's wearing his pajamas now. Those loose, comfortable pants and that nearly see-through shirt from his apartment when Nicky had seen Joe smile at his touch. He walks over to stand in front of Nicky. "Tell me, Nicky," Joe braces his hands on Nicky's knees and leans to speak straight into Nicky's ear. "Are we all only as good as our worst day?" It's that same intimate, quiet voice that had spoken Nicky's name that first night.

Before he can stop himself, Nicky reaches up and grips Joe by the hips. He turns his head and drags his nose up the length of Joe's neck. He can hear a low groan as he bites at the skin below Joe's ear.

Joe straddles Nicky's lap, rolling his hips into Nicky, drawing a gasp from both of them.

Nicky pulls back, looking at Joe's face. "What are we doing here?" He asks.

Grinding into Nicky's lap again, Joe says, "That's what I've been asking you."

Reaching up, Nicky cups Joe's face and brings it closer, wondering at how soft his beard is. He's had Joe's mouth on his neck, his chest, and around his cock, but now he's finally going to kiss it. "Joe, I need—"

The sound of something screeching in the woods wakes Nicky, and he can feel the sweat dripping down his neck, can feel the spot on the sheets where he's been grinding himself, chasing friction even in his dreams.

He buries his head in his hands, gripping his hair, and tries to shake off the sensation of Joe's skin under his fingers.

Nicky checks the clock and sees that it's just after two in the morning. He rolls over, pulling the covers up around his face and hoping sleep will come again. The dream might continue, or it might not, and Nicky honestly doesn't know which of those to hope for.

When he wakes again, it's after eight, and he can hear quiet murmurs from the kitchen. Pulling on his hoodie and tugging it closed against the morning chill in the house, Nicky goes in search of caffeine. 

Just outside the doorway of the kitchen, he stops in his tracks.

Joe and Tarek are having coffee. That's it. It's a simple morning ritual. Tarek is standing on one side of the kitchen island, his hands wrapped around a chipped red mug. Joe is opposite him, sitting on one of the high stools, sipping out of a cup that proudly proclaims he's the World's Best Aunt. So quietly that Nicky can't hear, Tarek makes a joke, and Joe chuckles like this is the oldest line in the book.

There are dimples in his cheeks. Dimples and laugh lines. Nicky's never let himself look at those before. He's never seen Joe at ease like this. They've been tearing strips off each other so much that he's not sure he's ever seen Joe without tension in his face, except the times when he was asleep. Joe puts his mug down and gestures as he tells some story about being at the gym. He mimics the faces of the heavy lifters, and Tarek laughs like whatever Joe said was the funniest thing he'd ever heard.

Tarek refills both their mugs, and Joe picks up a bundle of papers to his right and holds it up for Tarek's approval. When he nods, Joe unfolds what turns out to be a topographical map of the area, and together the two of them start tracing a path with their fingers at first, then with a pencil.

The voice of Joe from his dream comes back to him. _I haven't ever been just that asshole,_ and _Are we none of us better than our worst day?_

Nicky shakes his head. Now is not the time for introspective reverie. Not before coffee, anyway.

"Good morning," Nicky says as he shuffles into the kitchen. Tarek beams at him, but Joe's face, as Nicky somehow guessed it would, goes tight at the corners of his mouth and the edges of his eyes.

Knowing he can't beat "World's Best Aunt," Nicky settles for a mug with a cartoon bear on it and the phrase 'You wouldn't like me before coffee.' He puts two sugars in it and joins Tarek and Joe at the island.

"You sleep okay?" Tarek asks, and Nicky nods.

"So, you two seem to be the ringleaders. What are we up to today?"

"I figure we'll give everyone a chance to get up and get some caffeine and some food in them."

Nicky nods. "I'm not cooking, but I brought eggs and other breakfast things. Plus, I think there is still a bit of pizza leftover from last night. "

Tarek grins and looks at Joe, who chimes in with, "No. There really isn't."

"No?" Nicky asks.

"I woke up thinking I'd be early enough to get those leftovers, but Joe beat me to it." 

Unable to help himself, Nicky smiles at Joe. Now really isn't the time for this. "So. After breakfast, what comes next?"

Pointing at the map, Tarek says, "Then some hiking. Nothing too crazy or strenuous, just a chance to see the local area and hang out with each other. Tyler and Joe are pretty good on a trail, I'm okay, and Amir's only been out with us once or twice."

Nicky thinks about how the trees looked outside his bedroom window when he woke and thinks that getting to explore that view sounds like a great way to spend part of the day.

"El said she wasn't sure if you would want—"

Nicky waves him off. "No, I want to. It wasn't one of the activities the girls did when we were younger, so I've only been hiking once or twice, but my boots are broken-in, and I'm always up for trying something new."

"Grab the stool next to Joe then, and you can help us figure out where we're going."

As he pulls out the stool, Nicky steals a look at Joe's face and finds it's entirely blank.

They take their time with coffee and breakfast, but eventually, Joe lets everyone know they're heading out in a few. There's a trailhead nearby that leads to some lovely views. Of all the things he knows, all the things he's good at, Nicky has no idea how to read a map like this. So he's just taking Tarek at his word that it'll be relatively easy on the new guy.

He's in his bedroom, pulling on his socks, when Joe wanders by on the way to the mudroom. With an almost audible screech, Joe comes to a dead stop.

"What are you wearing?"

Nicky looks up at him. He's been good so far, but he's been unsure and confused since he showed up last night, and it's starting to wear on him. If Joe wants to start shit right now, then Nicky will give as good as he gets. "Socks."

Joe's mouth opens once, then closes, then opens again. "Wait," he says and walks back in the direction he came. Just about the point where Nicky gives up trying to figure out what Joe is on about this time, the man himself comes back into the room holding out a pair of dark green socks.

"What are these?"

"Socks."

"I have socks."

"Yours are cotton. These are a wool blend. They'll be better for this."

"Is this some kind of statement about my competence in the outdoors? Because I think we can both agree you're the nature boy here, but—"

"No." Joe sighs, and he sounds so, so tired. "No, Nicky. They're just socks. Cotton is terrible for keeping your feet dry if you sweat in your boots. You'll tear up your feet, especially your heels. I just thought maybe I could help you avoid that. Contrary to what you might think, seeing you hurt isn't fun for me."

He tosses the socks onto the bed, turns, and leaves. Nicky sits there staring at the socks for a minute before he tugs off the white cotton ones he's been wearing and pulls on the pair Joe left. Not entirely sure Joe's not fucking with him, Nicky takes his own socks and stuffs them in a pocket, just in case.

The woods are, as Tarek and Joe had said, stunning. After an hour or so, they reach an overlook with a few rocks large enough to sit on. Nicky pulls out his phone and takes a few pictures of the view, then a few pictures of the guys so he can send them to Ellie later. Dropping to the ground near the edge of the overlook, Nicky pulls out his snack bag, throwing some to each of the assembled crew. Even Joe gets a bag with some jerky and some trail mix.

After they eat, Joe takes a seat on the boulder next to Nicky.

"So," Joe says and gestures vaguely toward Nicky's boots.

"They're fine," Nicky says. At this point, Nicky would settle for knowing _why_ he can't seem to give an inch here.

That's a lie; he knows precisely why. The only people he's ever allowed himself to be vulnerable for are his family. He's had his heart crushed, disregarded, and discarded, and he hasn't ever really recovered. If he opened himself, even a little, to someone who gets under his skin, haunts his dreams, invades his fantasies the way Joe does? If that went wrong?

Nicky's spent enough time putting himself back together. He can't do that again.

He wiggles his toes and feels the soft fabric of the socks. It's a strangely intimate thing, having a piece of Joe's clothing against his skin. Intimate, but not unwelcome or uncomfortable. 'I can't wait for this weekend to be over,' Nicky thinks and knows it's both a lie and the truth at once.

Back at the house, Tarek, Amir, Nicky, and Tyler take turns showering off the dirt and sweat. Nicky checks the time and realizes he needs to get cracking on the dinner preparations. Still tugging his shirt down over his head, Nicky is surprised to find he's the only one in the kitchen.

He can hear Tarek's shower still going, and the one outside Tyler and Amir's room, too. Which just leaves the question of where Joe is. As he's rinsing the spinach, Nicky looks out the window and lets his mind wander. He notices someone's set up wood for another fire in the outside pit and a pile by the indoor woodstove as well. Somewhere to the left of the fire pit, Nicky hears a cracking sound. When he turns to look, there, of course, is Joe.

He's lucky, and he knows it, that he's still in the 'rinsing off' stage of the preparation and not into the 'chopping and dicing stage' because right about now is when Nicky would have cut off a finger. Possibly two.

Joe is out by the woodshed, his t-shirt tucked into his back pocket, chopping firewood.

Some part of Nicky, some remnant from two silhouettes back on the 'stages of man's evolution' graphic, some genetic memory from an ancestor with a much heavier brow ridge and much simpler tastes, grabs him by the brain stem. 'Look at that,' it whispers. 'That's a man who would bring home plenty of meat for the winter.' Nicky sags against the sink. Unbidden, he makes a little grunting noise, like he's been kicked from behind.

He watches as, again and again, Joe swings a maul down onto a wood splitter, and the logs crack and fall in pieces. When Joe stops for a second to run his wrist across his forehead, Nicky can see the sheen of sweat across Joe's back, one bead of it running down his spine and into his jeans. If Nicky were feeling cliche about this, he'd say he wanted to trace the path of that one drop all the way down.

The truth is, he'd be just as happy to be there waiting when the drop got to the bottom of its run.

(The truth is, that ancestral remnant wants to drag Joe off to a cave somewhere and do unspeakable things with him.)

Sweat has collected all over Joe's upper body, and Nicky imagines it running down the hair on Joe's chest. He's suddenly, painfully aware that Joe doesn't know he's being watched, isn't aware that Nicky is staring him like some kind of leering voyeur just waiting, hoping, for there to be a catastrophic failure of the seams on his jeans. Nicky should stop. He should. There are vegetables to chop and meat to brown, and none of it is getting done while he's standing here watching Joe be both achingly competent and dangerously sexy.

"Can I help?" Tarek asks, and Nicky whips around so fast he knocks the handle on the faucet and nearly scalds the back of his hand as the water goes all the way to hot.

"Hmm? Uhhh. Yes. Sure. Could you find a pan to—uh. To brown that sausage in. Please. It's beef, by the way. The sausage."

Tarek grins at him. "I'm sure it'll be great."

Somehow, calling on every reserve of strength he's got, every trick he learned from being there for his sisters, Nicky pulls his shit together before Joe gets back in the house. When Joe stomps into the mudroom again and heads straight for his shower without passing by the kitchen, Nicky wonders which saint he should thank for this reprieve.

He can do this. He can. It's not the first time he's made dinner for five while keeping himself together with tape and twine, and it won't be the last. For most of her early teens, Bianca seemed determined to pick at every open spot on her siblings she could find, and Nicky got exceptionally good at filtering her out while he got down to the business of making meals happen. And homework. And field trips. And all the other bits of their lives.

So this is fine. Nicky will just deal with Joe as he would with—Oh God, no. No. He absolutely can't think about his baby sister in the same breath he's trying to drown out the image of Joe, half-naked and covered in sweat. That's a bad plan.

Time for plan B, then. Nicky's just going to have to white-knuckle this until the images fade, whenever that is.

Thankfully, Nicky is in the middle of explaining the plan for dinner when Joe walks in, so he's saved the trauma of having to make eye contact right away.

"This is going to be a little like the pizza from last night, but with pasta instead. I have these sheets of dough, and I've made a kind of grid on them. Put a spoonful of whatever filling you want in the middle of the square." Nicky scoops up a bit of herbed goat cheese and drops it into the center of what will eventually be a ravioli. "Not too much, or it will burst when we cook it. Clear?"

Tyler is reaching across the island for a bowl of ricotta, but when he sees Nicky raise the spoon in warning, he jerks his hand back.

"We're all terrified of that spoon, Nicky!" Tarek laughs, and Nicky spares a moment to think how grateful he is that his sister is marrying a man this good.

When all the squares are all filled, Nicky drapes the second layer of dough over the top and shows Amir how to run the cutter between the lumps of filling.

"Okay." Nicky hands Amir the slotted spoon. "Now we put them carefully into the—Carefully! Into the water, and we set a timer. It takes much less time than you think." Amir hovers over the pot like an expectant father, and when none of them burst open, he takes Nicky's, "Well done!" with an endearing smile on his face. 

Each of them gets a turn, and while they're doing the filling and cutting, Nicky heats some sauce, a bit of the red leftover from the night before, and his grandmother's cream sauce recipe.

"Is it my turn?"

Nicky, and he nearly pats himself on the back for this, doesn't jump when Joe speaks.

"Sure, if your ravioli are ready." Joe is standing far too close for Nicky's sanity. Close enough that Nicky finds himself drifting forward like he's stretching toward the sun.

With the tray of uncooked pasta in one hand, Joe turns to Nicky, meeting his gaze straight on, and says, "Tell me what to do next."

 _God, Joe,_ Nicky thinks. _I wish I could, but I have no fucking idea at all._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (hey, if you comment—which is in no way required, or even expected, though it’s always appreciated—and you’ve got a tumblr username that isn’t the same as your ao3 handle, and you wouldn’t mind sharing it, can you let me know who you are over there?)
> 
> (mutuals can safely ignore this. I know who you guys are, and I’m consistently in awe of you and amazed you let me sit at your lunch table. 💜💜)


	7. me for you, you for me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Out by the fire, Joe claims one of the empty chairs. Nicky is still puttering in the kitchen, and frankly, Joe is glad of the reprieve. He's spent the last forty minutes watching Nicky cook. Nicky, with his sleeves pushed up to his elbows and flour dusting the hairs on his arms as he rolls out pasta. Nicky, carefully cutting rows of ravioli or chopping herbs. Nicky's hands. It was enough to distract Joe so thoroughly that when it came time for his turn, he had to have Tarek explain the entire process again. 
> 
> So yes, it's nice to have a few minutes of quiet before Nicky comes back out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I said Saturday and I'm making it by the skin of my teeth. I thought this chapter needed an edit, but it ended up needing closer to a full rewrite. BUT! It was for a good reason and it ended up longer and with more smut. So, that's nice. Less with the funny this time, but sometimes that's just how stuff shakes out. Thank you guys for your patience while I catch up on comments from the last chapter, I figured you'd rather have me writing, and then the edit took longer than expected. I'm almost caught up though! 
> 
> As I mentioned, the big bang goes live on Monday, so the next chapter of this won't go up until Tuesday night (US time).

Out by the fire, Joe claims one of the empty chairs. Nicky is still puttering in the kitchen, and frankly, Joe is glad of the reprieve. He's spent the last forty minutes watching Nicky cook. Nicky, with his sleeves pushed up to his elbows and flour dusting the hairs on his arms as he rolls out pasta. Nicky, carefully cutting rows of ravioli or chopping herbs. Nicky's _hands_. It was enough to distract Joe so thoroughly that when it came time for his turn, he had to have Tarek explain the entire process again. 

So yes, it's nice to have a few minutes of quiet before Nicky comes out. 

Before long, the back door opens, and Nicky comes out, with Tarek behind him. 

"Don't tell her I told you that," Tarek says.

Nicky laughs. "Right, because I _want_ to get murdered in my sleep."

This is the hardest part about pretending to be friends with Nicky. He gets to see what Nicky is like with his friends, slightly-soft and wanting to make sure everyone is fed and warm and safe. Until recently, the simmering irritation they had whenever they were alone together had been a kind of welcome reminder of where they stood. That was before Joe got sick. Before Nicky fussed over him and fed him and teased but didn't attack. 

Since then, the only time they'd had alone together was when Joe offered him the hiking socks earlier, and even that hadn't felt like their usual tension. He'd seen the flash of mistrust and suspicion in Nicky's eyes, but instead of, 'Good. Let's not lose sight of the truth here,' today, his first reaction was, 'Would you get that suspicious look if Tyler were handing you these socks? Or Tarek? What makes them safer than me?' 

Joe's not going to pretend his behavior around Nicky has always been stellar. He's just not the kind of guy who would throw around his knowledge of hiking gear as a way of lording over someone with almost no experience. What kind of dick would do that?

_Whatever kind of dick Nicky thinks you are._

Nicky stops, seeing that the only open seats are directly to Joe's left and straight across the fire. Either their elbows will brush whenever they reach for something on the table, or they'll be directly in each other's line of sight. He decides to take the seat across the fire, and Joe's not sure if he should feel relieved or not. 

Joe takes his first bite just as Nicky sits down. It's like a little burst of sunshine in his mouth. Lemon zest is mixed in with the ricotta, and it sparks brightly against the brown butter sauce. Joe, to his credit, doesn't actually moan out loud. When he looks up, he's afraid he'll see a wary expression on Nicky's face, but instead, it's one of expectant curiosity, like he cares what Joe thinks about his cooking. 

For a second, he's irrationally defensive. This should be an easy weekend. This should be a weekend of laughter with people he cares about, not trying to prove that his intentions are good, and then attempting to read Nicky's responses like a goddamn decoder ring.

_You want Nicky to know you're not that dick? Prove it._

So instead of trying to parse through Nicky's expression and decide what it means, invariably picking the worst option, Joe decides to try something different. What will happen if he assumes the best instead of the worst about Nicky's reactions? What if he believes Nicky isn't waiting to remind Joe which one of them is more capable in the kitchen but instead is simply someone who likes to help, to take care of people? 

He swallows and clears his throat. "This is really good, Nicky." Before Nicky can react, the others chime in, agreeing that the food is incredible. 

The face Nicky makes in response to the compliments is one that Joe is intimately familiar with, and seeing it on Nicky's face hits him like a train, but it makes so much sense. Nicky looks pleased and touched, yes, but also he looks relieved. It's precisely the look Joe knows he gets on his own face when someone says, "I don't know what I'd do without you," or "no one does that as well as you do." It's the face of someone reassured of his standing among people whose opinion he cares about. Someone who believes that for now, at least, he's valued. No, more than that. Is invaluable. 

"This really is amazing, Nicky." Tarek has one ravioli only most of the way into his mouth. "I admit, when you first mentioned cooking, I was kind of hoping you'd make soup."

Nicky frowns. "Why soup?"

Joe's first response is to think, 'No. Tarek, no. Don't do this,' but given how Nicky reacted to the compliments just now, he decides to watch and see how it goes.

"Yeah, Joe was telling me about the stuff you made for him when he was sick. He went on and on about how it was the first thing he could smell for days and how good it tasted." Tarek shrugs. 

Nicky smiles. "Did he? That was nice of him to say. It wasn't anything special, but I'm glad he appreciated it." He looks genuinely surprised. Part of Joe wonders how they got here, to a point where even a genuine compliment given when Nicky wasn't even around could be suspect, but the rest of him knows the truth. Months of looking for any weak spot in the other's armor has left them gun-shy and suspicious.

Sometimes a compliment is just a compliment, but that hasn't been true for them. For so long, nothing between them could ever be taken at face value.

Tyler launches into a story about his cousin nearly burning down the house while he was learning to cook, and Nicky's attention shifts away from Joe. 

"Okay," Tyler says when they're finished eating. "We didn't pick a house with a hot tub so we could sit next to it instead of in it."

"Damn straight," says Amir. 

Tarek shrugs. "Suits on, boys."

Across the fire, Nicky is smiling, too. Is his smile a little tight? Does it not quite reach the eyes? Joe decides he doesn't care. It's time to stop having separate reactions just for Nicky or assuming the worst. From here on out, Nicky gets treated no differently from Tyler or Amir.

Five minutes later, when they're all standing by the hot tub as Tarek and Amir lift the cover off, Joe realizes that he was horribly, catastrophically wrong. 

It's ridiculous. Joe's seen Nicky naked. He's had Nicky's _dick in his mouth,_ but those were in the semi-dark. They were furtive glances blurred by the urgency of his own needs and the clutch of Nicky's hands against his skin. Right now, Nicky is lit by the fire and the warm glow from the house lights. While Joe is sure about some of his memories--the sound of Nicky's voice saying his name, the particular taste of the skin just at the base of Nicky's throat--he has to rethink his assessment of Nicky's shape.

He doesn't remember Nicky's shoulders being this broad, just as he doesn't remember Nicky's hips being so narrow. Those thighs, have they always looked this good? The ass, though, that one Joe got exactly right. Nicky has an ass that would have made Joe weep months ago if it were attached to a man less--well, less 'Nicky.'

Tarek is the first one in, and he manages to sprawl across an entire corner. "You taking up enough room, T? I'm pretty sure you could manage a bit more if you tried."

"My party, my sprawl. You want to take up half the hot tub, you go find yourself a nice boy, and we'll throw you a party, too."

Joe slips into the water just to Tarek's right. "You're the worst."

The way everyone else arranges themselves, Nicky is to Joe's right, but he's far enough away that there's no chance for accidental touching, and frankly, it's easier than if Nicky were across from Joe. Because while those red swim shorts are doing Nicky's ass no favors, the color keeps catching Joe's eye. The last thing he wants to do is lose any of their progress toward civility by leering at Nicky and not focusing on a word he says.

"I'm disappointed, Nicky," Tarek says. "Ellie promised me you owned Hawaiian-print board shorts."

Nicky snorts. "Those are for Beach Day with the kids at school. Hawaiian-print is perfect for water balloon fights and running through the sprinklers."

Oh, look at that. Imagining Nicky being good with small children is still enough to make Joe's knees weak. That's good to know.

"I have to tie them tight, though, or I risk losing them halfway down the slip-n-slide."

Joe wonders how many awkward moments that visual is going to cause him during next week's meetings.

Amir lets out a happy little groan as the jets hit his back, and he sinks until everything below his nose is in the water. Everyone else just relaxes for a bit. It's the kind of quiet moment Joe's been hoping for all weekend. He loves getting to spend time with his brother with no pressure to be doing other things. Tarek's an amazing guy. He's smart and sweet, and he's stepped up and matured so much since he started seeing Ellie. At first, Joe thought El might be pushing Tarek to make changes. When he finally decided to ask, Tarek just smiled and shook his head. 

"She loved me just the way I was. Someone like Ellie deserves the best partner, and I want to be that for her. I'm making changes, but they're only to make me more the man El already thinks I am."

Joe had pulled Tarek into a hug and hadn't even bothered trying to hide that he was crying.

"I know," Tarek said. "She does that to me too."

Right now, Tarek's face is turned up to the sky, looking among the stars. They can see so much more here than in the city, and Tarek and Amir are amusing themselves by making up constellations. Tyler interrupts them to make Tarek tell his favorite story about the apartment they'd lived in their last year of college, a story which involves a box of Altoids, a gym sock, and a very, very drunk Tyler.

"Why do I always have to tell this story?" Tarek asks though it's clear he doesn't mind at all.

"Because Tyler was so drunk he doesn't remember it," Amir says, and the rest of them laugh, even Nicky.

Even Nicky. 

That laugh, just the night before during the story about Anisa and the fox, throws Joe for a loop. Until this weekend, Nicky hadn't laughed like that around him since their adventures with Joe's sock the night they met. 

"Oh, I _definitely_ need to hear this one." Nicky's tone is easy and open. 

He doesn't seem defensive, and nothing about his words seems designed to set Joe's teeth on edge. Joe might be tempted to say that the three sides of Nicky he's seen, the man sitting next to him tonight, the one who'd fussed over and taken care of him, and the man who'd snapped at him across the di Genova's dinner table were entirely different people. 

They aren't, though. It's just taken so long to figure out where the edges matched up. Joe thinks he might almost have the shape of it. He closes his eyes, trying to see all the threads and twine them together just the right way. Nicky's parting remarks in Joe's apartment had made the timeline of his life so much clearer. If Joe's math and guesses are right, Nicky had been only fourteen when their dad left, and they'd heard nothing, or close to it, since then. 

At fourteen, Joe's father had been the most important man in his life. _If he'd walked out when I needed him most and never looked back, I'd have trouble trusting peoples' motives, too. What's more, I'd be looking for attacks from every angle just to protect myself._

What Joe doesn't know is why tonight seems to be different, but that will come, too. Perhaps, if Joe is feeling brave, he can ask. Call it an experiment, like earlier when he'd decided to assume the best instead of the worst. He's not sure if it'll be less work than trying to read between the lines and look for hidden meanings in everything Nicky says, but he has an idea, and if he's right? It'll be more than worth the effort.

He might have kept pondering it the entire time they were in the hot tub, except that after about twenty minutes, Tyler gets up out of the water.

"I'm going in for a beer. Anyone else? Amir? Nicky?" 

Amir shakes his head no, but Nicky smiles at Tyler. "That sounds great," he says. 

Tyler comes back, one bottle in each hand. When he steps into the water, he's close enough that Nicky has to scoot to the side to avoid him. 

Now, instead of being out of Joe's eye line, Nicky is constantly at the edges of Joe's vision. When Joe turns to say something to Tyler, he can see the hairs at the nape of Nicky's neck, how they've curled in the steam. His skin is slick, shiny with sweat or steam, and it's making every muscle in his neck and shoulders stand out. Joe watches a bead of moisture run down in front of Nicky's ear and hang from the corner of his jaw for a second. He has to remind himself that licking the other guests while in a common area isn't considered good party etiquette.

Joe tunes back into the conversation when he hears his name.

"Not Joe. He's having more fun just letting fate lead the way." Amir makes it sound like Joe's some kind of raver on a bender.

"Usually leading right to the bedroom," Tyler says.

Ah yes, the siren song of guys missing their single lives. Amir's been with his steady girlfriend for more than three years, and Tyler hasn't so much as looked at another person since the night he met his husband.

Joe just grins. "Sometimes I don't even let them get as far as the bed." Amir laughs, and Joe shrugs. "Besides, the couch is just the right height for—"

"I do not need to hear another word of that!" Tarek is waving his hands as if to ward off any more oversharing from his brother. 

As Joe laughs, he turns and catches Nicky's eye. What he sees there is an expression of confusion and almost hurt. He could try to guess why, but Joe decides maybe he'll make this part of the experiment where he asks instead of assuming. Later, though. Right now, he needs to put Tarek in his place.

Grinning at him, Joe turns back to Tarek. "Threatening to tell you about my sex life is my favorite weapon."

"Hey, remember the time—"Amir launches into some long, convoluted story about being on a camping trip with Joe and having to remind everyone the next morning that tent walls aren't real walls.

Joe tips his head back and watches the trees, their leaves moving against the starlight sky. This is the mood he's been hoping for, and he's going to let anyone, not Nicky's possible judgment, not even his own confused brain take this from him.

Back in the house, Joe runs through the shower enough to rinse the chlorine off, then throws on an old, beloved pair of sweatpants with his favorite beat-up t-shirt. 

He grabs his towel, and on his way past Tarek and Tyler's rooms, he sees they've left theirs draped over the foot of their beds. 

"You guys just like sleeping in damp bedding or something?" he calls out as he grabs their towels. 

Joe grins at Tarek in the living room. "Put the game on, I'm just going to throw these in the wash, so they're not soaking through your beds."

The washing machine is significantly more complicated than the one in Joe's building, so he's still staring at the instruction panel when he hears someone clear their throat behind him.

It's Nicky. Of course, it's Nicky.

He's wearing a loose pair of fleece shorts and a well-loved hoodie, and he's showered, too; Joe can smell the soap he used and see his hair still curled at the ends. One hand is stuffed in his front pocket; the other is holding his towel from the hot tub.

They're quiet for a second, then Joe steps forward and reaches his hand out to take Nicky's towel. Nicky steps toward the machine at the same time. It's not that big a laundry room. By the time Joe gets out, "Here I'll put that in with my—"they're standing nearly nose to nose. 

"Joe, I—"

Would Nicky have snapped at him? Would he have gotten defensive again? Or would there have been a smile like the one he had for Tarek earlier? He'll have to ask about that, too, because Nicky's words are cut off as Joe, feeling like he's being pulled by the ribcage, leans in and runs the tip of his nose along the side of Nicky's neck.

Gasping, Nicky clutches at Joe's arms, his fingers digging into Joe's shirt. 

Nicky closes the last bit of space between them and dips his head to bite the meat of Joe's shoulder. Gripping Nicky's hips, Joe takes a step back, moving them entirely out of view of the living room. Nicky follows, drifting forward until their chests are pressed together, his fingers curled into the muscles of Joe's back. 

"I'm—"Before Joe can finish, Nicky cuts him off.

"Joe. No."

Immediately letting go and pulling back, Joe feels the soft fleece of Nicky's shorts slipping through his fingers. He clenches his jaw, meeting Nicky's eyes. "What is it?"

"We're not doing this now, Joe." Nicky's body makes a liar of him by brushing against Joe's as he breathes in. He stands his ground, though. His hands drop from Joe's back, and he steps away. 

Breaking old habits is never easy, and Joe doesn't even realize he's assuming he knows Nicky's motives are as he thinks, 'That makes sense. The door is open, everyone else is just in the next room, and soon they'll start to wonder where we are.' Stepping back, Joe raises his hands. "Understood."

"Really?" Nicky asks.

"Absolutely." He holds his hand out. "Let me have the towel. I'll put it in with ours."

Looking more unsure than ever, Nicky passes Joe his towel and goes back into the living room.

  
For the rest of the evening, it feels like a live wire is strung between the two of them. No matter where they go, no matter who they're talking to. It's like every bit of Joe is aware of Nicky. Later, he'll realize he has no memory of what was on the TV, because he's not registering anything the way he usually does. 

At some point, Nicky pulls the leftover pasta from the refrigerator, and the five of them eat it straight out of the bowl with their fingers.

"Aren't we offending some Italian god of food somewhere," Tyler asks.

"Nah." Nicky grins. "As long as you're enjoying the food, that's what matters most." He pops a ravioli into his mouth. Almost as soon as he starts chewing, he stops again and looks betrayed. "I may have been mistaken. Who thought lemon and mushrooms were a good combination?"

Amir starts laughing so hard that Tyler has to take his drink before Amir spills it on the floor. 

Late that night, they all drift off to their rooms. 

Joe stands in front of the bathroom mirror, brushing his teeth and trying to decide what his next move is going to be. 

He's felt Nicky like an itch against his skin all weekend, and he's pretty sure it's mutual, and Nicky is feeling Joe's presence the same way. Joe has a successful career built on his ability to learn and empathize with people, to know what motivates them and why they do what they do. Having finally spent some time looking at Nicky through that lens, there's so much he should have seen sooner. 

'Time for that experiment in asking,' he thinks.

He rinses out the sink and dries his hands by dragging them against his sweatpants. 

  
Nicky is standing at his window, staring out at the view. Joe leans against the door jamb, his hands jammed in the pockets of his sweatpants. For almost a minute, he watches Nicky watch the night go by. His shoulders are tense, and Joe can see him plucking at a loose string on his hoodie like an anxious—well, like an anxious teenager.

Joe wants to find their father and—he's not even sure what, but it would be terrifying. Bianca had only been three. Who had to explain to the toddler that her father thought she and her five siblings were disposable? Their mother? Nicky? 

As someone with a pathological fear of being deemed replaceable and being cast aside by someone he cares for, Joe can't even imagine how that hurt. He can, however, see traces of it in every vicious word he and Nicky have ever traded. 

At some point, he must have moved or breathed or done something to make enough noise because Nicky turns and meets his eyes.

"Did you need something?"

What comes out of Joe’s mouth isn’t remotely related to the words he planned to say when he came in, but all at once, the fight goes out of him, and he doesn’t have energy left for anything but the truth. “Nicky, I’m tired. I’m so tired, and I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Nicky bristles. “You can leave; no one is—”

“No! Not—I shouldn’t have said it like that. I don’t want to do this _like this_ anymore.”

“Like what?” Nicky’s hackles are up.

“Like that!” Joe points at him. “Exactly that. The thing where assume we know what the other person means, then put our worst guesses into each other’s mouths without checking to see if we were wrong.”

“This is just how we are.”

“No, Nicky. It’s not. We—“Joe sighs.

Joe knows he hasn’t been slinging insults at Nicky since before he got sick, but he’s been on the lookout for barbs and arrows everywhere. He assumes Nicky’s been doing the same thing. They were each so busy being on guard for an attack they didn’t notice the other had stopped making them.

Nicky’s eyes are those of an animal checking to see if that food is bait for a trap. 

One of them has to make the first risky move. Joe, who has his own reasons for wanting to be the one who can do things, the indispensable one, sees now that this is what he can do for Nicky. He can be the one who is vulnerable first.

“It. It’s been nice to be in the same room and not be snapping at each other,” Joe says, feeling a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. “Almost like we were friends.”

“Except that’s all for show. We’re not really friends.” 

Joe might have turned on his heel and left at this point, but he hears something, the barest hint of something in Nicky’s voice that inches those last few words toward being a question. 

“That’s what we said, yes, but I think maybe things have changed a little since we agreed to that. Am I the only one who thinks that?”

Nicky’s “No,” is barely more than a whisper, but it’s exactly what Joe was hoping to hear. 

If Joe’s right, the best way to show that he doesn’t want to take anything from Nicky is to give instead. He thinks, ‘That, I can do,’ and takes another step into the strike zone.

“I know we haven’t been real friends. But.” He shrugs one shoulder. “Wouldn’t you like to be?”

He can see Nicky’s throat bob as he swallows. Fuck, Joe can tell how hard this is for him. Nicky nods his head. “I would.”

“Me too.”

“So what do we do now?”

“We just. Be what we’ve been pretending to be. We know how to be kind to each other. We’re just not used to it happening while our clothes are still on.”

It’s quiet and very, very awkward for a few seconds, but something like a grin twitches across Nicky’s mouth. 

“Come on, Nicky.” Joe smiles. “If it helps, pretend you’ve got your hand on my dick, and let’s just talk.”

Nicky’s grin is there for real now, tiny though it may be. “You told him about my soup?”

Joe swallows. This is not where he thought things would start, but it's as good a place as any. “He was offering to bring me something. I said not to worry about it, and I mentioned the soup.”

“You said it was good.”

“It was. I told you that.” Joe smiles, feeling a few steps closer to friendship. “Thank you for taking care of me, by the way.”

A little bit of tension eases in Nicky’s shoulders. “You’re welcome.”

Even if this attempt went no further tonight, Joe’s counting it as a win. “Thanks for cooking this weekend, too.”

Nicky shrugs. “Figured I could make myself useful.” For the first time, he seems to take in Joe’s body language. The way his hands are still in his pockets and his shoulders are still a little hunched. “Was there something else?”

Joe opens his mouth. There was, but now it seems like the wrong time. “It’ll wait for a minute.” He drops into the chair by the windows and smiles, feeling some of his tension melt away as Nicky takes a seat on the chest at the foot of the bed, leaning back against the tall footboard. “So, friend. Tell me about your week.”

This is a question teachers both love and hate. 

Nicky tries to take the safe way out. “It was fine. The kids are learning about space.”

“Right. See, I know the reality is that people ask teachers about their workdays, but no one really wants to hear the truth. And the way I know that is that sometimes, for fun, Anisa answers that question honestly. Apparently, the look on peoples’ faces is a kind of consolation prize for the shitty pay. So let’s try that again. Hey Nicky, how was your week?”

Nicky smirks at him, and Joe’s never in his life been so glad to see a smile. 

“On Tuesday, Owen decided he didn’t want to stop eating his snack to go to the bathroom, so he just went right at the table, and just for fun on Friday morning, they decided to take twenty minutes to get into a line so we could go out to the garden. There are twelve of them.” Joe stares at him. “Twenty. Minutes.” A few seconds pass. “Anisa’s right. That look does take a little of the sting out of my paycheck.”

They spend close to an hour discussing everything from whether the intricacies of bulletin board design are as dull as the intricacies of spreadsheet formulas to the way both their mothers fuss over them. It gets easier and more comfortable by the minute. It’s not perfect, and sometimes a phrase will go by that Joe consciously decides not to take in the worst way, but there are fewer, and fewer of those as the conversation goes on. Joe almost laughs at the thought, but he was right; it does feel almost as easy as talking to each other during sex. 

Something catches Nicky’s eye, and they both cross to the window to watch three deer stop in the middle of the back yard, look around, and then bound off into the woods. In the wake of that, Nicky turns to Joe.

“So? Was there something else?”

Joe wonders how it’s possible to feel this anxious around someone whose balls he has seen that close. He drags his thumb across his lower lip and meet’s Nicky’s eyes. 

“Earlier, you said ‘we’re not doing this now.’”

“So?”

“So. It’s later.” He pauses. “Or is that not something friends do?”

Nicky stares at Joe like he’s making up his mind. Finally, he grips Joe by the front of his shirt. “You are insufferable.”

“Sure,” Joe says, slipping his hands down the back of Nicky’s shorts “Now say that like it’s a bad thing.”

Joe puts his mouth over the tendon along the side of Nicky’s neck and sucks. Hissing, Nicky pulls him closer and says, “What I meant was ‘we’re not doing this anymore,’ but it seems I was wrong.” Smiling, Joe hums against his skin. 

“Well, I do try to make compelling arguments.” 

Wait. How long has Joe had his hands on Nicky’s ass? By now, it surely must be time to squeeze it. Doing so brings Nicky’s hips a little closer and reminds Joe that he hasn’t gotten to do this nearly as much as he’d like.

He can feel Nicky’s laugh in his own chest. 

“You don’t want to do this on the couch?” Nicky asks. “Isn’t that as far as most of your conquests get?” Suddenly, Nicky’s body goes stiff, like he’s bracing himself for something. 

Four weeks ago, would Joe have jumped at the chance to berate Nicky for that remark? Sure, but he and his friends tease each other all the time, and he knows the same is true for Nicky. So, in the spirit of progress, Joe just laughs and enjoys the feeling of Nicky relaxing against him.

“I can never tell if they’re jealous that I still get to fuck around if I want, or if they think I’m missing out by not having one person to fuck for the rest of my life.” He scrapes his teeth over the front of Nicky’s neck and licks into the hollow between his collar bones. “Let them laugh if they want; I know the truth.”

Nicky grips him by the hair and pulls his head back. “And what’s the truth?”

For a moment, everything is still. Later, he’ll ask about Nicky’s face when Tyler and Amir joked about his dating life. Right now, he can help Nicky keep from jumping to shitty conclusions by giving him a little more information to work from.

“I want to end up where they are, but I’ll get there my own way. In the meantime—” He shrugs and pushes his hands up under Nicky’s hoodie, dragging his nails down the sensitive skin along Nicky’s ribs. 

Nicky gasps, but when he goes to moan, Joe claps a hand over his mouth. “You want to wake the entire house up?”

As Joe watches, Nicky’s face goes through one look after another. The last stop could so easily be anger or frustration. Two months ago, if he so much as suspected Joe would be ashamed for them to be caught together, Nicky would have been out the door by now. Tonight, something hot and dark settles behind Nicky’s eyes, and Joe feels it like a stroke across his belly.

Tearing his mouth free from Joe’s hand, Nicky smirks. “I can keep quiet. Can you?” He drops his hands to Joe’s hips and grips so hard Joe thinks tomorrow morning he might have bruises in the shape of Nicky’s fingers. 

Does his mouth go a little dry just thinking about that? Who can say?

He slips his hands back down over Nicky’s ass. “Oh, you don’t need to worry about me.”

Nicky cocks an eyebrow. “You sure? If you start wailing so loud everyone comes running, it’s going to interrupt your good time, and you wouldn’t want that, would you?” 

Joe smirks at him, and Nicky responds in kind. 

“Did you bring—“

“In the kit bag. On the bathroom sink,” Nicky says.

Joe rakes his fingernails up the sides of Nicky’s ass as he pulls his hands free. He picks through Nicky’s toiletry kit bag like he’s trying to find the truffles in a mixed box of chocolates. Come on now, Nicky took Joe home without even knowing his name; surely he’s got—Ah! There it is.

Grabbing a towel, as well, he steps back into the bedroom.

“Nicky, Nicky, Nicky.” He tsks like a disappointed grandmother. “Going everywhere with lube and condoms.” He looks up and meets Nicky’s eyes. “Now who’s easy, hmm?”

This is another point where Nicky might have gotten his hackles up before, a point where Nicky would have used that razor tongue of his to tear a slice off Joe’s hide. Not tonight. “You going to put those to use now, or should I find you a cashier so you can check out and go back to your room?”

“Laugh it up. Every minute you’re standing there with your clothes still on is a little less lube I’m going to use.”

“I’m exhausted, Joe. It’s been such a long day.” Nicky’s yawn is so exaggerated and fake it looks like he’s about to stretch his arm out and try to put it around his date. 

Joe rolls his eyes, but he also tosses the supplies on the bed so he can push his hands up under Nicky’s hoodie and strip it off over his head. When it hits the floor, Joe bends and presses a kiss at the hollow of Nicky’s right shoulder. Into Nicky’s ear, with every lick of heat building in him, Joe says, “Take. Your fucking. Shorts off.”

Nicky pulls the knot out of the drawstring and lets them fall. 

Crowding him backward, Joe watches Nicky’s face as his knees hit the mattress, and he gropes around behind him before sitting down. Joe nudges Nicky’s knees open and steps between them. 

“I’ve been thinking.” He grips Nicky’s hair and tugs until Nicky’s looking straight up at him. “I’m not quite finished paying you back for the bank parking lot.” Joe moves forward, forcing Nicky to move back or end up with Joe’s knee in his chest. He keeps at it until they’re in the center of the bed, Nicky spread beneath him. 

Bending, he bites the meat of Nicky’s chest just over his heart, then scrapes his teeth across one of Nicky’s nipples until he feels desperate fingers tugging at his hair and hears Nicky hiss. 

Like he knows exactly what it’s going to do to Nicky’s brain, Joe drops a row of sucking kisses right up the underside of Nicky’s cock, flicking his tongue just as he hits the head. Gasping, Nicky’s hips buck off the mattress, and Joe is almost, but not quite, slick enough to get the towel all the way under him before Nicky collapses back down. 

He licks the base of Nicky’s cock. Then again, a little higher up. “I’m going to do this, and only this, until you ask me nicely for more.”

“What the hell, Joe? Just suck me. There’s no need to make it a production.”

“Sure, there’s no _need._ Like there wasn’t any need for you to blow me in that parking lot. Sometimes we do things just because we feel like it. And tonight, I feel like hearing you say ‘please.’ A lot.”

To his credit, Nicky makes it through almost five minutes of Joe methodically licking every inch of his cock and balls before he starts to whine. “Joe. Come on.”

“What?”

“Joe, just—“Nicky grits his teeth.

“Tell me what you want.”

“You _know_ what I want.”

“True. I’m very clever and astute. I still want to hear you ask. Nicely. For now, I’m going to go back to what I was doing.” 

“No, don’t. You know—“ Nicky rolls his head against the bed and holds out another five or six swipes of Joe’s tongue before he either gives in or decides that it’s stupid to think of it as giving in when it’s what they both want. “Mouth. Your mouth, Joe. Please.”

“Full sentence, Nicky.”

“Please, let me have your mouth on me. Please. Please suck me, Joe. Ple—“Joe wraps his mouth around the head of Nicky’s cock and watches as Nicky snatches a nearby pillow and crams it over his face. He can hear Nicky whining and moaning behind the pillow, and oh, that won’t do at all. Joe pulls off and starts licking again. “What the—Joe what—"

“I want to watch your face. You want me to suck you. It’s an easy decision, Nicky”

Nicky curls his shoulders forward enough to look down at Joe and glare as he tosses the pillow across the room.

“Thank you.”

Somehow, and it’s something of a miracle, Nicky doesn’t shout so loud he brings everyone running. Mostly because he’s biting into his lips so hard that Joe’s surprised they’re not bleeding. At one point, Joe runs one finger behind Nicky’s balls, and he claps both hands over his mouth, moaning so hard Joe can feel it vibrate down his body. 

Before long, Nicky’s fingers plucking at Joe’s shirt start to take on a desperate, frantic air. He’s got his heels dug into the mattress, and only the presence of Joe’s forearm across his hips, and the weight Joe’s putting behind it, keeps him from rolling his hips up into the wet, sucking heat wrapped around him. 

Joe thinks about that first night, about how Nicky fell apart just like this. How it had been fun that night, but tonight it feels like something they’re sharing. When Nicky starts saying Joe’s name over and over with increasing urgency, Joe pulls off, knowing his lips are still slick and swollen from dragging along Nicky’s cock. 

“Close?” Nicky nods. Joe shakes his head. “Not yet, I think.”

In the decade-plus that Joe’s been sexually active, he’s learned a few things: There _can_ be too much prep, but it’s much, much more than you think it is. Nothing is more important than communication, but having an amazing ass comes close. If a man doesn’t have a single bookshelf in his house, he might be a good fuck, but you’ll want to leave before you have to talk to him. And finally, there’s no sexy way to put on a nitrile glove. On the other hand, dropping it in the trash can and passing out on your partner instead of trudging to the bathroom to wash your hands? That’s worth the awkwardness.

It’s the oddest feeling, having the coolness of the lube seeping through without feeling the actual wetness. Joe rubs it between his fingers and thumb, trying to warm it a little. 

“Hey Nicky?” When Nicky props himself on his elbows to look down, Joe grins at him and swallows Nicky down as far as he can without gagging. Halfway through a moan that’s shaping up to be very, very loud indeed, Nicky jams the heel of one hand between his teeth and bites down so hard Joe can see the muscle clench at the side of his jaw.

While Nicky’s distracted with that, Joe pushes into him with one finger. He keeps pushing forward until Nicky makes a choking noise. Smiling, Joe pulls almost all the way out and tries again.

It takes a little time, but it turns out that Nicky, lit by the moon, spread across the sheets, writhing on Joe’s fingers and moaning around his own hand, is absolutely worth the effort. 

“Close. Joe, I’m—“

If for some reason, they walk out of this house and slip right back into being adversaries, this will be the image Joe conjures up in response to Nicky’s barbs. 

‘Sure,’ he’ll think. ‘You can make every smartass remark you want. I still know what you feel like when you clench down around my fingers and tell me you’re close.’

Joe pushes in with all three fingers and curls them up, rocking them in and out the tiniest bit as he drags his tongue over the head of Nicky’s cock. Slowly, so slowly, Nicky dissolves around him, clutching at Joe’s shoulders, his fingers shaking as he gasps. Joe feels as Nicky’s cock jerks in his mouth, and then Nicky is coming, hot and bitter against Joe’s tongue.

It’s beautiful, and Joe is so much more fucked than he even dreamed.

He strips the glove off and drops it into the wastebasket, pushing the lube bottle out of the way so he can stretch out along Nicky’s side.

He does not, _does not_ , arrange himself in Nicky’s arms. He simply props his head on Nicky’s outstretched arm because it’s closer than any of the pillows. Nicky’s eyes are closed, and his chest is still heaving, though not as much as a few seconds earlier. 

“I’ve been thinking.” Nicky’s voice is soft and intimate in the quiet of the room.

“‘Bout what?”

“That was nice, but I’ve had better.”

The closest they come, for the entire night, to making enough noise to bring people running is when Joe slaps his hand down on Nicky’s chest in response to that remark and manages to hit one of Nicky’s nipples with the tips of his fingers. Nicky jackknifes off the bed and starts laughing. When was the last time Joe made Nicky laugh like that? Months. Not since their first night together. 

Suddenly it’s like Joe’s skin is too tight all over, and he has to close his eyes.

Nicky kneels up and takes a look at Joe, scanning the length of him like Joe’s clothing is a particularly stubborn obstacle in the way of his forward momentum. Reaching out, Nicky pulls the tie at the waist of Joe’s sweatpants, then stands and yanks them off Joe’s legs like he’s pulling the tablecloth from under the glasses in a shitty magic trick. 

Or, at least Joe assumes that’s his intention because the sweatpants get hung up under Joe’s ass, and now he’s the one laughing as he wriggles his way free. He gets the sweatpants down around one ankle and kicks them across the room. 

“How about I handle my shirt, so you don’t take my nose off?” 

Nicky sighs with feigned boredom and gestures with his finger for Joe to get on with it. It’s Joe’s turn to laugh now, and from the shock on Nicky’s face, it’s not something he was expecting either. 

“Did you have a plan, or are you just going to admire the view?”

Squinting, Nicky drops forward until he’s bracing himself on his hands, one on either side of Joe’s head. 

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” He ducks his head and noses into the hair behind Joe’s ear. “Is that what you were doing earlier?”

Joe frowns, confused. “What?”

Dipping his body, so he’s pressed against Joe from shoulder to hip, Nicky murmurs. “I saw you when I was getting the pasta ready. What the fuck, Joe? Chopping wood? Really? Chopping wood _shirtless?”_

Knowing the move is almost too tender for the two of them, Joe runs his palms up Nicky’s back. “You were staring at me?” he says into the curve of Nicky’s neck. 

Gasping at the touch of Joe’s hands, Nicky rocks his hips down, trapping Joe’s cock between them and grinding against it. “I’m not answering that.”

Joe nips at the skin under his jaw. “I don’t want to hear it out of you, with your fucking hands rolling out that dough and cutting all the pasta.”

Nicky grins at him. He reaches for the lube and somehow manages to get some poured into his palm. Arranging himself so that he’s propped on an elbow, he says, “You were thinking bout my hands while you were watching them, weren’t you?” Wrapping his slick hand around Joe’s cock, Nicky scrapes his teeth across the thin skin at the side of Joe’s neck. “It’s okay, you can tell me.” 

Joe grunts and bucks up into Nicky’s grip but doesn’t say anything. Nicky keeps stroking him, spreading the lube up the length of his cock and down over his balls. When he’s gotten Joe nice and wet, Nicky arranges himself, so he’s fucking against Joe with nothing like enough friction. 

“Come on, Joe. Use your words. You were standing there in the kitchen, your dick getting nice and thick, and what were you thinking?”

Gritting his teeth, Joe’s voice is almost a growl. “I was thinking if Tarek saw, I’d never hear the end of it.” It’s impossible to find a workable position that gets him more contact with Nicky, and Joe knows the frustration is bleeding into his voice. “Nicky.”

“Shhh.” He’s whispering into Joe’s ear like he’s gentling a skittish animal. “No need to rush, Joe. I know it’s hard for you, but I think I’m going to take my time.”

Joe’s fingers dig into the meat of Nicky’s back. He can feel the muscles dimpling under his grip. “What the fuck, Nicky?” He’s meeting every roll of Nicky’s hips and sighing at the slick pull of skin against skin. “You trying to get _me_ to say please now? Is that it?”

Nicky trails the fingers of one hand up Joe’s ribcage. “No. I don’t need to hear you say please to know you want this. You’re giving yourself away, and you don’t even realize it.”

Biting down into his lip, Joe groans and tries to grind himself up into the crease of Nicky’s hip. He’s sighing and panting, and it would be embarrassing if he didn’t feel like every nerve ending was sparking with more pleasure than he knew how to process.

“It’s all those desperate little noises you make for me, Joe.” The heat of Nicky’s breath against the skin of his neck feels like it’s own caress. Joe tries, he does, but he can’t hold back the whine. “Like that. Just like that.” Nicky bites down on Joe’s earlobe, and Joe grunts in surprise, grabbing Nicky’s ass and pulling him closer.

“Nicky—“ Joe’s words are cut off by his moan as Nicky rocks his hips down. 

“Just can’t help yourself, can you? Trying so hard to stay quiet, but you can’t hold back how much you want this. _Need_ this.” There’s a knot of something hot low in Joe’s groin as he listens to Nicky cooing in his ear about how much he likes the noises Joe is trying so hard to keep back. He takes a deep breath in through his nose, settling himself and trying to get some control over his responses. 

Nicky’s voice is sugar sweet. “Are you good now? Going to keep it together for me?” He rocks forward, and Joe can feel the muscle of Nicky’s thigh nudging at his balls. 

Unbidden, Joe’s mouth drops open, and all he says is, _“Nicky.”_

The sympathetic, consoling noise is somehow hotter than any words Nicky could use. “It’s okay, Joe. You don’t have to hide how needy you are. You don’t have to pretend you’re not greedy for every bit of skin you can get, not fucking your self against me like you’ll die if you don’t come all over me.” His mouth brushes across Joe’s throat, and he murmurs into the tender skin. “You going to give me more of those noises?”

Joe shakes his head. “No.”

“Really?” Nicky rocks down again. “Are you sure?” And again. “I know you can’t help being desperate for more; I can feel your hands pulling me closer.” Nicky grinds himself down against Joe again, and Joe can feel the head of his cock dragged across the hair below Nicky’s navel. “Look at you trying to keep quiet. It must be almost impossible, given how hungry your cock is. I can feel how hard it is against me. Hot. Greedy.” He punctuates each of the last two words with another jerk of his hips, and Joe gives up trying to be anything but a mewling, desperate mess. 

That little coil of something inside Joe, that thing which might have been shame if Nicky wasn’t most of the way to praising him for it, bursts. _“Nicky,”_ he says again, and even he can hear the plaintive, wanton edge to it.

“Go on—” There’s a tiny hiccup of space like Nicky is choosing his words carefully. Joe knows what word Nicky wants to put there, and he’s never regretted anything the way he regrets telling Nicky not to say it again. “Your cock is so desperate to come it’s dripping all over you. Go on.”

His face buried in Nicky’s neck, Joe is almost sobbing as he digs his fingers into Nicky’s ass, jerking him closer and grinding up against him one last time. After that, Joe’s entire world is the throb of his cock pulsing between them and the feeling of his release pooling in the hollow of his hip.

Nicky rolls off to one side, draping his forearm across his eyes and letting out a slightly hysterical, exhausted chuckle. When he can breathe again, Joe pulls the towel out from under Nicky’s hip and pats ineffectually at his groin until Nicky takes it and wipes them both clean. His shoulder is right in front of Joe’s mouth, so how is Joe supposed to resist kissing it?

“Move over,” Nicky says, nudging Joe’s hip. He thinks Nicky’s about to tell him to leave, but Nicky just pulls the comforter and sheet down. He’s hard again, Joe notices.

“You want—“ he gestures at Nicky’s cock. 

“Mmm? No. I’m—I’m good for now.” Nicky flops onto his back on the left side of the bed.

Joe scoots up beside him. “You sure?” Joe asks, reaching over to prod Nicky’s erection. It bobs against Nicky’s hip, and for some reason, that’s the funniest thing Joe’s ever seen. He prods it again, and he’ll deny forever that the sound he makes in response is a giggle. 

Nicky wraps his arms around Joe, bundling him close. “If you do it again, I’ll shave one side of your beard while you’re asleep.”

The sensation of Nicky holding him is like a signal to his body, and Joe feels a bone-deep wave of contentment and peace roll through him. “What makes you think you can get to me where I sleep?”

Nicky chuckles, and that’s the last thing Joe hears before he’s unconscious.


	8. the single most adorable car crash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s never been any doubt about Joe being attractive; Nicky wouldn’t have taken him home that first night if he weren’t. Now, though, Joe is someone Nicky can laugh with as well. Joe is his friend. How the hell did that happen? Would they have gotten here eventually if they’d spent more of that first dinner listening and asking questions? Why bother asking? That chance is gone. What’s done is done, and how heavy it sits in Nicky’s belly doesn’t matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys were so incredible with your feedback after the last chapter!! It was such a joy getting to read all the reactions and see which parts you loved. Thank you, more than I can say. It’s incredibly inspiring and motivating and you guys are FUNNY! I’m still catching up on comments, but I wanted to get this chapter out there. 
> 
> I don’t have any guarantee on when the next bit will post, but I’m aiming for Friday. It needs less reworking than this bit (which has about 1200 of its original words) but I’ve also got some work deadlines coming up and an obligation on Friday night that will keep me away from writing/editing/posting. If not Friday, then Saturday for sure. Thank you guys, again, for your enthusiasm and support and feedback. ❤️❤️ (Friday night update: It’s gonna be Saturday. This next bit has fought me like no other piece of writing I’ve ever done. I’m nearly finished wrestling it to the ground, but it’s after 1 and I need sleep. Tomorrow. I promise.)
> 
> (Hey L, I told you I was stealing that chapter title. 😁)

Is it possible that if someone sees them coming out of the same room, they’ll get unmitigated piles of shit from their friends, thereby shifting the attention away from Tarek at his own party? Absolutely.

Could Nicky have asked about setting the alarm for Joe so they could be sure that wouldn’t happen? Yes. Should Joe have set his own damn alarm if he was that concerned about it? Also yes.

In the end, Nature takes care of it for them by flooding the room with light through the oversized windows, so they’re awake long before anyone else. Still sprawled on his back, Nicky blinks against the light. He must have let go of Joe sometime in the night because instead of being passed out on his chest, Joe is lying next to him.

Close. He’s lying very close, his breath brushing Nicky’s skin. It’s a strange intimacy to be this close to someone and not touching them. Almost more intimate than if they were clinging to each other. Falling asleep with Joe in his arms had felt like an extension of their night. Knowing Joe is close enough that any breath might bring their skin together? Vulnerable. It feels like they’re vulnerable.

Shifting to his side so that he can take a proper look, Nicky sees Joe’s eyelashes against his cheeks. He’s glad of the sunlight this morning. When Joe had been sleeping off his fever, Nicky had wondered at how different his face looked when he wasn’t angry, but without this much light, he might never have noticed the smattering of freckles across the bridge of Joe’s nose.

There’s never been any doubt about Joe being attractive; Nicky wouldn’t have taken him home that first night if he weren’t. Now, though, Joe is someone Nicky can laugh with as well. Joe is his friend. How the hell did that happen? Would they have gotten here eventually if they’d spent more of that first dinner listening and asking questions? Why bother asking? That chance is gone. What’s done is done, and how heavy it sits in Nicky’s belly doesn’t matter.

(In an instant, Nicky knows with absolute certainty that somewhere in the vast universe is a version of himself with a little more patience and a little longer fuse, who didn’t make the mistakes he did. That version gets to wake up next to Joe like this every morning, gets to laugh with him and kiss him and not regret half the things they’ve said to each other. Nicky knows that other self is out there and hates him.)

Joe rolls onto his back and stretches so hard Nicky can hear his back crack. Sighing, Joe rubs his hand over his belly. Nicky braces himself, prepared to find that their fragile new friendship won’t survive in the daylight. He’s ready for the worst but hoping for the best, that they can keep talking and laughing, maybe fuck once in a while. He clamps down on a burst of hysterical laughter at the thought that Joe might kiss him. They don’t—Kissing isn’t what they do, and that’s for the best.

“What time is it?” Joe asks, smiling at him. Nicky lets out a breath he hadn’t even known he was holding.

Slapping around blindly behind him, Nicky finds his phone on the nightstand. “Just after six-thirty.”

Joe sighs and drums his fingers against his chest. When he turns to look at Nicky, his eyebrows are up, and his face looks like it’s waiting for the answer to a question his mouth never asked. A second or two goes by. “What are you thinking?” Joe asks.

“That a month ago, you would never have asked me that question.” If this thing between them isn’t strong enough to stand up to discussion, better they know that now.

A dimple flashes in Joe’s cheek. “True. I’d have started feeling awkward, sure you were thinking the worst.”

“I’d have assumed you were looking anxious because you wanted to leave. To keep from getting my feelings hurt, I’d have made some shitty remark.”

Joe rolls onto his front, props himself up on his elbows, and rests his chin on one palm. “I would have taken that bait and gotten defensive.”

“It would have gotten ugly.”

“When neither of us was thinking anything like the other’s worst assumptions.”

Rubbing one knuckle over the curve of Joe’s shoulder, Nicky says, “Now we ask.”

Joe nods. “I think that’s the only way it works. So, what were you really thinking?” He lifts his eyebrows and waits for Nicky to answer the question.

“I was wondering how long until everyone else is awake.”

“An hour. At least. Why?”

Nicky shrugs.

“I could go back to sleep,” Joe says.

“You could.”

“I might.”

“Go right ahead.”

Raising his eyebrows in question again, Joe asks, “Are _you_ going back to sleep?”

To make sure Joe knows he’s joking, Nicky grins. “I don’t see any better option on the table.”

Joe’s face creases into a wicked smirk. “Ordinarily, I’d insist on caffeine first, but I can see that other things might have a higher priority. Time for one more?”

“At least one more?”

In his head, Nicky hears his logical brain say, ‘What are you _doing?’_

Apparently, it doesn’t believe that haggling over how much sex to have is something friends do. Nicky feels sorry for his logical brain; it needs better friends because this is fantastic.

“One more, and we make it a good one.” Joe rolls onto his back and pushes one hand under the sheet to palm himself.

Nicky cocks and eyebrow. “So you’re just going to start without me?”

“What are you, the cruise director?”

Nicky pulls the sheet back and covers Joe’s hand with his own. “Now remember, Joe, it’s important to give everyone a turn with the toys.” His hand slips further down.

Joe looks somehow both horrified and impressed. “You fucker, did you just use Kindergarten Teacher Voice on me while your hand is on my cock?”

“Technically, it’s on your balls because you’re refusing to share.”

“Fine,” Joe says, slipping his hand free and rolling onto his side, so he’s facing Nicky. “I’ll just find a different toy.”

It is frankly embarrassing how fast Nicky gets hard when Joe uses that tone.

When Joe licks his palm, there’s no performance in it. No art or attempt to be suave. He takes Nicky’s erection in hand and squeezes, swiping his thumb over the exposed part of the head. His matter-of-factness is shockingly arousing.

Nicky clenches his teeth to keep from moaning, but he can’t hold back the thrust of his hips into Joe’s grip.

Deciding two can play at that game, Nicky holds his hand up in front of Joe’s face. Once Joe has gotten it as sloppy wet as he can, Nicky reaches down and curls it around Joe’s cock.

The only sound in the room is their breathing and the slip of skin against sheets as they find the best position, rearranging themselves, squirming, reversing a grip here, tightening a hand there. When Nicky finally gets what he thinks is the best angle, Joe gasps, and Nicky can’t keep the triumphant smirk off his face.

Together, they’re using all their best tricks. Joe’s fingers are reaching down to drag across Nicky’s balls, and Nicky is keeping his grip tight so Joe can fuck up into it. It’s hot, of course it is, but as things get hotter, slicker, harder, Nicky notices an awkwardness creeping in at the edges. At first, he thinks it might be daylight making them feel more exposed than they ever have before, but that’s not it. If anything, Joe is somehow sexier in broad daylight because Nicky can see every curve of Joe’s arm as he strokes Nicky’s cock.

Realization hits, and Nicky nearly jerks back out of Joe’s grip. As it is, he has to stop for a second and close his eyes.

What’s awkward is the way they’re staring at each other, or rather not staring at each other. Joe is watching Nicky’s chest heave; Nicky is watching Joe’s muscles move. They’re each finding their own place to focus, so they aren’t making eye contact. Nicky wonders if Joe is doing it for the same reason, or if he’s the only one worried that if he meets Joe’s eyes right now, the reality of the truth will hit hard and fast.

If they were in bed with anyone else, they’d be kissing until they ran out of air.

They’re so close to each other, Nicky can feel Joe’s breath on his collar bone. Every time Joe twists his wrist on the upstroke, Nicky’s head thrashes against the pillow, and he knows his hair is brushing Joe’s face. It’s all of an inch of space they’d have to close, but it’s sitting between them like an impassable chasm.

Nicky keeps his eyes closed, concentrating on the heat and weight of Joe’s cock in his hand. He listens to every sound Joe makes, waiting for a hitch in his breath or the slightest moan, tailoring his movements to pull more and more of those sounds from Joe’s mouth.

He wants to tell Joe how good his hands feel, how Joe’s needy little whines are stroking Nicky’s cock as surely as his hand, but he finds he doesn’t have the voice for those thoughts like the night before. Not that Nicky is silent, he’s keeping up a near-constant stream of quiet moans and a litany of Joe’s name interspersed with cursing and praise.

He squeezes just as hard as he knows Joe likes it. Later, much later, there will be time to wonder how the hell this is something he knows.

“Fuck,” Joe hisses, as his breathing gets short and fast. Nicky knows he’s close.

He opens his eyes and meet’s Joe’s gaze. “Look at you. Are you close—” Fuck. No. Joe was very clear in his request, so Nicky catches the word and tucks it away.

Squirming into Nicky’s grip, Joe nods. “Please don’t stop. Please don’t stop.”

“Going to come for me?” Joe nods again; all artifice is gone from his expression. Nicky knows that right now, he could have anything he wanted from Joe; every deepest secret is his for the asking. It’s too much, and Nicky has to tighten his grip so that Joe will close his eyes.

To his surprise, and probably Joe’s, Nicky comes first. He’s holding together just fine until Joe opens his eyes, looks straight at Nicky, and says, “So good. Always so good when you touch me.”

With a strangled, surprised gasp, Nicky feels his balls draw tight, and then he’s coming so hard it’s seeping through Joe’s fingers.

When he can speak again, Nicky says, “Come on, let me have it. You’re dripping on my hand like you’re teasing me. Getting me so wet. Come on.” He’s going too fast and too hard like he’s trying to pull it out of Joe by force. If it hurts a little, Joe doesn’t seem to mind. His eyebrows draw together; his open mouth goes slack.

“Nicky. _Nicky.’_

With a quiet grunt, Joe lets go of his last bit of control, and Nicky can feel the wet heat against his fingers.

It takes Joe almost a minute to truly focus on Nicky. By then, Nicky has found last night’s towel and wiped his hand off. He tosses the towel to Joe.

“You’re in a hurry. Is there someplace you need to be?” The smile on Joe’s face as he cleans his hand tells Nicky that he’s just teasing.

Nicky isn’t quite as careful to make his meaning obvious when he says, “I’m not the one in someone else’s bed.”

“I don’t—“Joe frowns at him. “Right.” He sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed.

Nicky’s mind is a riot, panicking at the idea of that simple tease being the thing that ends this seedling of a friendship. Half of him says, ‘See how easy it is for him to have me scrambling? Not even a full day without my armor, and I’m raw and almost pleading. This is why that armor was there.” The other half, the half that hasn’t needed a voice for more than a decade, says, ‘Please. Please don’t walk out that door. Please don’t leave me.’

He goes deadly still at the touch of Joe’s hand on his forearm and pushes himself up until he’s sitting with his back against the headboard, knowing he can only be making things worse.

“Nicky. Nicky, look at me.” Nicky clamps down on every whirling thought in his head and looks Joe straight in the eye. Joe brushes his thumb over the bones of Nicky’s wrist. “Now we ask.”

Now we ask. Now we don’t assume. Now we don’t guess or put words in each other’s mouths.

“Okay.” Breathe. “You looked upset; what were you thinking, Joe?”

The smile Joe gives him is small but honest. “I thought you might be insinuating that I shouldn’t be here, that you didn’t want me around anymore. I thought maybe you were saying I should hurry and leave. I wasn’t sure, and I’m still learning how not to get defensive first. Thank you for asking.” Joe squeezes his arm. “Now you. What are you thinking?”

Nicky opens and closes his mouth at least three times, trying to find the words. That’s not true. He knows what he wants to say; what he’s trying to find is the breath to say it. Fuck. There has to be a way to put these words together that doesn’t make him sound like an insecure, scared boy.

That strikes home so hard, Nicky almost doubles over. He wouldn’t dream of belittling his kids for being scared or worried. He’d tell them it was brave to be scared but do something anyway. It’s a process, he’d say. Learning takes time. Skills take practice. Everyone has raw, open places in their armor, and reactions like Joe’s come from somewhere, just like Nicky’s do. Maybe one way to show Joe that Nicky isn’t going to aim for those soft spots on purpose is to show a few of his own.

“You looked like you were taking that the wrong way. I thought you might—I thought you might leave. Without asking for an explanation. I _worried_ you might leave without asking for an explanation.”

Joe opens his mouth and says another thing that would have been impossible a month ago.

“I’m sorry. For not asking before I assumed.”

Nicky breathes a little easier. “I’m sorry for not thinking about how you might hear those words.”

Flashing a dimple, Joe says, “That was a good test of ‘now we ask.’” Nicky nods. “Hey, I’m not a math genius, but I can put two and two together. I know how hard that was to tell me you were worried about that in particular. Thank you, Nicky.”

Gripping the sheets on either side of where he’s sitting, Nicky says, “I propose we add something under ‘now we ask.’” He watches Joe’s eyebrows go up. “Even if at some point it turns out we did mean things in a hurtful way, maybe because we’re worried or stressed, one time won’t—“

“One time won’t be enough to kill this. Agreed. Sometimes even friends who start off on the right foot hurt each other’s feelings. Accidents happen.” Nicky nods. He’s right. “I have one to add. It might be that someday I do have to leave to calm down. I promise you; I will tell you why, and I’ll come back so we can try to fix it.”

Nicky needs to not think about that right now. He can take it out and examine it when he’s got his feet under him a little. Time to steer the conversation into calmer waters. He nods and smiles, letting Joe catch his grin. “And maybe before we spill our feelings everywhere next time, we put our pants on first.”

Joe blinks like he hadn’t realized they’d carried on that entire conversation with their dicks hanging out in the sunlight. “Agreed.” He checks his phone and tugs on his sweatpants and t-shirt. Nicky pulls on that same hoodie, but his shorts must have ended up under the bed, so he pulls his jeans on instead. “They’re going to be up and moving soon, but—” Joe worries one side of his bottom lip between his teeth. “Can I ask you something?”

“Hm?”

“Last night, you seemed—You hadn’t been that relaxed around me—”

“With our clothes on.”

Joe smirks. “Touché. But last night seemed different?”

Nicky rakes his fingers through his hair before giving it up as a lost cause. He’ll shower when he gets home. “I had data points.”

“What?”

“Come on, let’s go put the coffee on.”

If Joe notices that the two of them end up drinking their coffee in the same spots on either side of the island that he and Tarek were the day before, he doesn’t say anything.

“You’d been civil to me all weekend. Polite, even. Once or twice you were even nice.” Joe snorts, but Nicky ignores him and plows on. “I wasn’t sure—I wanted to believe it, but I wasn’t sure until Tarek told me you’d said the same thing to him about my soup that you’d said to me. There wasn’t any reason for you to lie to him, so you must have told both of us the truth.” He sips his coffee, inordinately pleased to have gotten the World’s Best Aunt mug today. “Knowing one nice thing you’d done for me wasn’t a lie, or a trap meant I could give the other things this weekend some benefit of the doubt.”

“And now we ask.”

Nicky lifts his coffee mug in a quiet little toast just as they both hear Tarek come shuffling down the hall.

* * *

The rest of the morning is slow and lazy. Nicky makes eggs, Tarek tells stories, and Amir corrects him, and Joe chimes in from time to time with things he’s found in his Twitter feed. By half past noon, Nicky’s bag is on the back seat of his car, and he’s hugging Tarek.

“Thanks for having me.”

“You’re family, Nicky.” They hug once more, and Nicky shakes hands with Amir and Tyler. Saying goodbye to Joe is an awkward dance where one goes for a handshake while the other goes for a hug. Then the reverse. Finally, Joe wraps his arms around Nicky’s shoulders and slaps him twice on the back.

“Text me?”

“Sure,” Nicky says and takes a second to think of that other Nicky, somewhere in the universe, and hate him just a little more.

For the entire ride home, Nicky sings along to his playlist or gets lost in a podcast. Anything to keep him from having time to think. It was a great weekend but emotionally exhausting, and he needs to shut off for a while. At home, he throws his clothes in the wash and sits down on the couch to watch TV. He wakes up four hours later with a crick in his neck and a feeling that even though, yes, he had a great time over the weekend, he’s somehow profoundly, deeply fucked.

The lock screen on his phone informs him that he missed a text from Joe. It’s a picture of Nicky and Tarek from Saturday afternoon, but Nicky sees what it’s meant to be—Joe making the first move. Friends do this, so they do too.

He replies with a simple comment about the scenery, just something to make this a conversation. Before the lock screen can kick on again, there’s another text from Joe asking if he got home okay. Something warm and happy settles in Nicky’s chest, and he vows to never, never look at that too closely.

They continue to message each other on and off throughout the evening, and Nicky decides just to let himself enjoy this. Just for tonight, he’ll enjoy having a new friend without having to pick apart everything surrounding that friendship. Still, he’s glad to get back into class the next day, to have the kids take up every bit of his focus. It feels a bit like a break.

Communicating _does_ get more comfortable. Partly that’s down to not seeing Joe’s face and letting the physical attraction confuse him. Most of it, though, is just time, exposure, practice.

Nicky usually keeps his phone off during the day—his family has the main office’s number for emergencies—which means more often than not, he powers it back on after the kids leave and finds a handful of messages from Joe. Mostly stream-of-consciousness commentary about some of his co-workers, but sometimes pictures of things he finds funny, or commentary on some ridiculous wedding thing Tarek is doing.

That one almost went sideways right from the start. Joe commented on a wedding-related activity, and Nicky misread it as a judgment of the entire wedding process. If he’s honest, Nicky finds most of it ridiculous, too, but he came just a little too close to reading it as a dig at Ellie.

He’d scrolled back through their earlier conversations, pictures of the neighborhood dog near Joe’s apartment, a few pieces of funky, colorful sculpture in the garden outside Joe’s office. Nicky’s reminding himself that at no point in the last week has Joe shown himself to be an asshole who would make fun of Ellie.

He’d thought back to their conversation in the bathroom at his mother’s house. Even in the midst of their worst behavior, Joe had said he loved Ellie. Like an actual mature, responsible adult, Nicky sends Joe a message.

_Could you explain what you meant by that?_

Joe responded quickly, clearly, and reassured Nicky that he was only remarking on how many obscure rituals were still being observed long past the expiration of their original purpose.

He had a point. Veils were an archaic nod to purity culture and virginity as a social construct.

Nicky said as much to Joe, and they were off and running again.

It’s an oddly shaped friendship with unexpected holes and unusual additions.

Things Nicky knows about Joe: He likes his eggs scrambled; he only snores if he’s sleeping on his back, it’s possible to take him apart in bed so thoroughly that he’s crying as he comes.

Things Nicky doesn’t know about Joe: What books he likes, whether he’s a cat person or a dog person, what his favorite movie is.

For the record, it’s “Aliens.”

(Really, it’s “Coco,” but he can’t watch it more than once a year because he cries for at least an hour after.)

The two weeks between the cabin and the rehearsal dinner are good for both of them, allowing them time to file down some of the sharp edges and fill in some of the blanks. What’s genuinely unexpected is how easily Joe’s friendship fits into Nicky’s life.

Unexpected, but not at all unwelcome.

Thursday afternoon, Nicky switches his phone on and is surprised to see nothing from Joe all day. He’d checked periodically as the evening wore on, but he got nothing during his after-work errands, nothing as he was cooking dinner, nothing as he was pulling a load of laundry from the dryer. Finally, when he sits down to eat, Nicky decides to take the initiative. Friends worry about each other. This is a thing friends do.

_You okay over there?_

The little dots that indicate Joe typing disappear and reappear at least three times before the phone buzzes.

_I swear, Nicky. I may actually break down if I have to write it out._

He follows it with a sobbing emoji. It’s the perfect thing to defuse any worry Nicky might have had about being the cause of the stress. No one uses emojis to end a friendship. Besides, one incident isn’t enough. They agreed on that.

_Call?_

_Video? Just trust me._

Nicky agrees, and a minute or so later, he’s looking at Joe’s face and thinking that he hadn’t even looked this bad when he was sick.

“Sorry for making it a production, it’s just been a long, long day, and I’m frustrated by inanimate objects and other people. I wanted to make sure you could see my face, so you didn’t think I was irritated at anything you said.”

It’s the nicest, most considerate thing anyone outside his family has ever done for him. Nicky wants to kiss Joe more than he ever thought possible. He’s so fucked.

“Are you still in the office?”

Joe nods like he’s got the world on his shoulders. “We’re in the final push.” He switches to the back-facing camera, and Nicky can see almost an entire wall covered in paper. Pictures, lists, drawings, floor plans, pictures of food, pictures of art. On and on, it stretches.

“Shit, Joe. Are you doing fundraising, or are you trying to catch a serial killer? You’re one spool of red string away from a full CSI wall over there.”

When the camera flips back, Joe is laughing, and Nicky feels a little surge of something bright and hungry inside him. He did that.

“We’re getting ready for the annual gala. I end up working with the events coordinator on this because I’ve got some insight into the—”

Something out of camera range distracts Joe, and he calls out to someone across the room. “You can’t do that. No. You can’t do that! I realize you think it makes sense, but maybe give me a little credit for knowing the personalities involved.”

To Nicky, he says, “It’s down to centerpieces and seating plans now. Everyone has to be in the right place at the right time and definitely _not_ in some other places at _any_ time. Where’s my Ocean’s movie, huh?”

“Clearly, they don’t know what they’re missing by not having you on the crew.” Joe grins at Nicky’s words. “Did they at least feed you?”

Nodding, Joe holds up half a sandwich. “Karthik and I bought dinner for everyone who stayed.” A voice offscreen catches Joe’s attention again, but Nicky can’t make out the words. “Fine,” Joe calls back. “If you want to put those two families at the same table so your layout will be more efficient, then you get to clean up whatever they throw at each other.” Another voice offscreen. “That’s what I thought.”

He looks back at Nicky. “Guess how many master’s degrees I have?” Smirking, he holds up two fingers and wiggles them just a little.

Someday, someone will come along who finds Joe’s brain as sexy as his face, someone who sees how funny Joe is and appreciates his sensitive side. Someone who doesn’t clash with Joe so much they ruin family dinners. That person is going to win Joe’s heart, and Nicky’s going to pull them aside and explain exactly what will happen if they disrespect or hurt him.

He’s already planning the speech.

They have a few more video calls, just for the pleasure of seeing the expressions the other one makes as they tell a story. The most notable is the call after the big gala Joe’s been organizing. Typically Nicky’s not up that late, but he’d just gotten back from some last-minute prep work with Ellie and Tarek when his phone buzzed with an incoming message.

_I know you’re asleep, but remind me tomorrow to tell you about the couple who got busted fucking up against one of the outdoor sculptures._

Smiling at Joe’s message, Nicky answers.

_I’m not asleep_

When the video starts, Nicky’s just staring at the wall behind Joe’s couch. Offscreen, Joe calls, “Hang on, I’m coming! I wasn’t expecting you to pick up that fast.” He drops into the frame, flopping onto the couch, and Nicky watches as every curl on his head bounces. It’s almost offensively endearing.

“Tell me you didn’t go to the shindig in that.”

Joe looks down at himself, brushing his hands over his _Hikers Do It With Their Boots On_ t-shirt. “You don’t think this is black-tie appropriate?”

Nicky laughs. “Given how hard they’ve been working you lately, it would serve them right if you showed up wearing that shirt.”

Grinning, Joe takes a big swig of his water and shoves a nacho into his mouth. “True. Luckily, I’m not that kind of asshole.”

“Well, you’re the asshole specialist, so I’ll take your word for it.”

Nicky holds his breath for half a second, torn between wishing he could take it back and reminding himself that this is why they do video calls. On the other side of the call, the remark catches Joe mid-drink. His eyes get wide, his jaw gets tight, and he turns to the side, so his entire spit-take ends up on his coffee table rather than his iPad screen.

Mentally patting himself on the back, Nicky winks at Joe. “Now, tell me about someone christening the outdoor sculpture.”

Joe is clearly still wired from the party because he doesn’t run out of stories, or steam, for almost an hour. Watching Joe’s shoulders and eyes droop, Nicky takes up the baton and tells his own stories for a bit. At some point, Joe starts to sag to the side, eventually giving up all pretense and stretching out on the sofa with his head on a bunched-up throw-pillow.

They keep talking for a while longer, mostly asking questions about Nicky’s students. Still, Nicky’s aware that at this point, he’s essentially telling Joe a bedtime story until eventually, inevitably, he falls asleep. Nicky sits for a minute, watching him. That couch, that throw pillow, that’s where Joe had fallen asleep when he was sick.

The moment Nicky’s been trying to run away from all week finally catches up with him. He remembers Joe saying, ‘I can put two and two together.’ Then, not long after, he’d promised that if he needed to leave, he’d say why, and he’d come back so they could talk.

Nicky’s not sure how much he learned from Ellie, but it seems Joe’s got enough logic skills to realize why it’s only ever their mother in family pictures after a certain point, and enough math skills to know how old they all were when that became the thing that separated one part of their life from another.

Joe looked at his evidence, pinpointed the thing that could rip Nicky apart from the inside, and then, when given a chance to use it as a weapon, used it to support and protect Nicky instead.

Alone in his dark apartment, watching Joe’s face as he sleeps, Nicky grieves for lost chances.

* * *

They talk a few more times before the wedding, and Nicky thinks in four months he’s gone from thinking Joe’s presence might ruin the day for him to being confident that the day wouldn’t be the same without Joe.

The night before the rehearsal dinner, Nicky volunteers to pick up some family photos from his mother. The joy of opening the door to find Mia sitting at the kitchen table is indescribable.

He wraps her up and holds her as long as he can. Eventually, when she starts squirming like an irritated cat, he lets her go.

“I missed you.”

“Of course you did. I hear you spent a whole weekend with your best buddy. Did you guys get out of there without killing each other?”

“We did.”

“Looking forward to the day when you don’t have to pretend to like him?”

Nicky doesn’t know what expression is on his face, but it catches Mia’s attention like blood in the water.

“Nicky?”

“Mia.”

“Nicky.”

“We’re two consenting adults, Mia. I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“Thank you for giving me _so_ much more information than if you’d just said ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ Now I know more than I want to about what you two got up to.” She’s quiet, and Nicky imagines her nestled into the tall grass like a cheetah. Waiting. “I thought it wasn’t friendly last time?”

Nicky shoves his fists in his pockets and wonders if she’ll always have the ability to make him feel like he’s been busted cheating on a math test. “No, it wasn’t friendly the first time. Last time was—It was fine.”

“So there have been multiple—Is this a thing, Nicky? Are you guys doing a thing?”

Nicky rubs his forehead. “We aren’t doing a thing, Mia. What would a ‘thing’ even be?”

“Oh. We’re playing semantics now. Jesus, Nicky, if you’re playing semantics, this is definitely a thing. Do you _want_ this to be a thing?”

“I’m fine with a thing. We’re friends. I like talking to him, and if something happens after the talking, that’s fine too. Having more friends is never a bad thing, Mia.”

She looks at his face, his hands clenching and relaxing in his pockets, the way he’s deliberately not rocking back and forth on his heels.

“Oh, Nicky. You went and caught feelings, didn’t you?”

Nicky scrubs at his forehead. “There were always feelings. These are just different feelings.”

“Do you want to be more than friends who fuck?”

And that’s the money question, isn’t it? Does he want this to be more than a thing? Does he want to see Joe smiling into his morning coffee? Does he want to casually kiss Joe as he’s making dinner? Does he want to wake up with Joe wrapped around him? Making Joe laugh is one of his favorite things now. What if there could be more of that?

Mia holds her hand up. “Never mind, your face just answered the question quite eloquently. So, is there a chance?”

There’s always a chance. There’s also a chance he could wake up on the moon tomorrow. Given the things he and Joe have said to each other? The likelihood is about the same.

“No. Not with how we started, not with the way we treated each other.”

“Did you guys talk about a fresh start?”

He tries not to scoff right to her face, but it proves impossible. “Mia, you know as well as I do that fresh starts are bullshit. Everyone hangs onto stuff.”

She smacks his shoulder. “No, I don’t know that, Nicky. Because if you two decide, if you _agree_ that you’re going to start fresh and you say as part of that, you will not make any more shitty remarks on purpose, then you know whenever one happens it was an accident, and you talk about it.”

How can he say, ‘We’re already doing that. Being careful with each other is something we’re getting better and better at remembering. That doesn’t change anything.’

“It’s enough that we were able to move past things to the point that a friendship is possible. I don’t want to risk this by trying to push for more.”

“Bullshit, Nicky! Look me in the face and tell me that you wouldn’t take that risk if he were the one asking. Go ahead; I’ll wait.”

A kind of heartsick longing surges through him at even the suggestion that Joe might ask for that. Would Nicky refuse him? Is there a past that’s insurmountable if the goal on the other side is Joe? Of course not.

How could there ever be?

“I thought so. If you want it, put in the work, Nicky. Hard work isn’t something you’ve ever shied away from. And from the look on your face when you think about him, this might be worth the effort.” He wonders if it’s obvious on his face how terrified he is. It must be because Mia pats him on the arm and says, “Nicky, your sex life is the gift that keeps on giving.”

* * *

The next day, the timing for getting to and from places is tight enough that Nicky takes the day off. The di Genova girls, along with Anisa, are spending the afternoon doing—something. Nicky doesn’t really remember. Possibly manicures. The only thing Nicky has to do before the rehearsal itself is getting the family photos over to Tarek’s parents’ house.

Pulling into the driveway, he can see the tent they’ve erected in the backyard. El and Tarek felt like trying to find a restaurant and deal with that hassle was more trouble than it was worth. Tarek’s parents suggested the tent, and from the minute they mentioned it, Ellie had been in love with the idea of a big family dinner where they could sprawl out and relax and not have to shout to be heard.

Nicky assumes Elena temporarily forgot that in their family, shouting to be heard is part of the factory package.

Box under one arm, he rings the doorbell.

When Joe answers the door, Nicky tries not to picture him naked in the morning light.

He really does try, but boy, is he bad at this.

“El sent me—”

“Right! The pictures.” Joe waves him in. “Go ahead and put them on the dining room table.” He gestures in what Nicky assumes is the correct general direction. “Sorry, they left me in charge for the moment, and I was just setting up chairs. Was there anything—“Joe’s cut off by the sound of his phone’s ringtone. “Yes?”

Nicky’s never seen someone’s face go from zero to ‘we are fucked’ quite so fast. He slides the box onto the table and is back at Joe’s side before the phone call is over.

“I’m going to need you to repeat that,” Joe says, and Nicky can hear the ice in his tone. “Right, well what about—“He nods along to whatever explanation he’s getting from the other end of the conversation. Nicky catches his eye and raises a curious eyebrow. Joe sighs and holds up one finger. “So there’s no chance of— Right. No, I understand.”

When Joe hangs up, his head drops back so that his “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” is directed at the hallway ceiling.

“What is it?”

“There’s been a fire in the kitchen of the restaurant that was supposed to be catering tonight. They’ve had to cancel.”

“They didn’t have a contingency plan?”

“Apparently not. Tarek wanted to go with this neighborhood joint they both love, but with a place that small, you take what you get. They’ll refund the fee, but that doesn’t help us tonight.” He sighs. “Shit.”

“I can cook.”

“For twenty people?”

Nicky checks his phone. “The rehearsal is in six hours. I can do this.”

Joe crosses his arms over his chest. “ _You_ can do this? Just you?”

“Yes.”

One eyebrow goes up as Joe asks, “So it’s okay for me to have half my hand in your ass, but I can’t help you sauté garlic?”

Nicky knows this tone. Joe’s defensive. He’s anxious.

For an instant, Nicky is back in the bedroom at the cabin, hearing Joe say, ‘I can put two and two together,’ and, ‘I know how hard that was.’ He can feel the warmth in Joe’s voice as he says, ‘I promise you, I will tell you why, and I’ll come back so we can try to fix it.’

Joe was acknowledging Nicky’s vulnerability, and showing that he wouldn’t exploit it.

This? Now? This is Joe’s weak place. Didn’t Tarek say that Joe got used to being the one the younger siblings came out for help? Even today, he’s been the one who knows the thing you need to know or can do the thing you need done. He has his fingers in everything at work, making himself indispensable. Being needed, being useful, tells Joe that his place in peoples’ lives is secure and lets him know where he stands.

Nicky almost grins. He’s got this.

“I could probably do this on my own, but it will be better, easier, and faster with you helping.”

Joe’s face softens. “It’s hard to take help, I know. Thank you, Nicky.” He sighs. “I’m guessing most of the time when you swoop in and come to the rescue, you’re doing it by yourself because you don’t have a choice?” Startled by the insight, Nicky nods.

Taking him by the shoulders, Joe meets his eyes. “Not this time, Batman.”

Nicky grins. “You really are the asshole specialist.” Joe, and oh, it makes Nicky warm all over, winks at him.

Snatching a pad of paper from the hallway table, Joe says, “Let’s put together a grocery list; you can do prep while I shop.”

“Point me at the kitchen.”

Nicky rattles off a few dishes he could cook that would scale well, and Joe helps him narrow it down. They go through the kitchen to see which ingredients they’ll need and make a list of things for Joe to get at the store. As they’re putting together the list, Nicky is talking about the foods, mentioning timing in a few cases, and trying to keep track of what else needs to be done.

All the while, Joe is writing out a steady stream of notes. When they’ve finished, Nicky looks over to see that Joe’s made a grocery list, yes, but also a chart of timing for the cooking and a checklist of other things they need to accomplish along with any deadlines for them. He’s covered every possible thing they might need to know later in the day.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Joe says, only to find Nicky staring at him. “What?”

“Joe, you’re really good at this.”

“In my job, it helps to stay on top of things.”

Holding up a diagram showing the layout of the tent and where they need to hang the lighting, Nicky says, “This is more than staying on top of things. I’m impressed. Very impressed. Thank you for helping with the cooking part of this; I would never have though to plan for some of these things, and now I can concentrate on the cooking without worrying about what I might have forgotten.”

Joe looks like someone’s just handed him a winning lottery ticket, he’s pleased, but this has clearly thrown him a bit. He blinks a few times before stuffing the grocery list in his pocket. “Text me if you need anything?” Nicky nods, and Joe swallows before adding, “Thank you.”

He’s out the door before Nicky can say anything else.

For the next hour, Nicky lays out supplies, preps what ingredients they have, and starts some soup. His phone buzzes every few minutes with a question or a picture of two things with a message asking Nicky to pick one. Watching Joe be good at something is arousing in a way he should have expected but somehow didn’t.

He blinks, and the movie playing in his mind’s eye is Joe chopping firewood. The physical display had been brain-scrambling, and competence was no small part of it.

“I got everything on the list.” Joe strides into the kitchen with two bags in each hand. “I wasn’t sure about one of the cheeses, so I got both options, and you can pick the best one.” He stops, one hand reaching into a bag to start unloading it. “What?”

_I wish we didn’t have to spend the next four hours cooking. I wish I could lick that spot on your neck. I wish you were naked in my bed. I wish I could tell you how fucking sexy you are right now. I wish you were mine._

“Nothing. Just listening.”

As Joe unloads the groceries, Nicky explains what he’s done so far.

“That all makes sense. We have about an hour and a half to cook; then we need to take a break and set some things up. It sounds like the best thing to do would be to start with everything that needs to simmer or bake, and we can leave them to cook while we hang the lights.”

“Agreed.” Nicky just can’t keep the grin off his face.

Drying his hands, Joe grins right back. “Tell me what I can do.”

Nicky takes a break from chopping vegetables to skim the list with the preparation steps on it and finds the perfect thing for Joe. “That meeting you had on Wednesday; how late did it run?”

Joe sighs like the world is sitting on his shoulders. “Four hours.”

“That’s rough, buddy.” Nicky scrapes the vegetables into the pan with garlic and onions. “How many meetings do you have each day?”

“Three. Minimum.”

Nicky pulls the chicken breasts from the refrigerator and sets them on a cutting board. “Now, you can do this by butterflying them, but I find this is better.” He hands Joe the meat tenderizer. “Tell those chicken breasts how you feel about three meetings a day; I need them all about a quarter the thickness they are now.”

Joe’s left dimple really is obscene.

One of the two main dishes is chicken piccata, and Joe takes to the grunt work of it like he’s been waiting for the chance. The banging is oddly soothing.

Or, at least it is until Nicky starts remembering Joe chopping firewood. The way his muscles had moved under his skin, the shine of sweat on his shoulders. Nicky shakes it off. Those shells aren’t going to stuff themselves; he needs to focus.

When they finish the first stage of prep, the two of them take stock of what they have left to do.

“Table needs to be set up and laid. We need to set the chairs out, and we need still need to hang the lights.”

Checking his phone, Nicky says, “We’ve got just over three hours until we need to be at the site. You really think we can get all of this done?”

“We can if we don’t stand around in the kitchen for an hour while you doubt my skills.” Joe’s tone sounds like he’s teasing, but Nicky checks his face to be sure. There’s nothing but laughter behind his eyes. “Come on; we’ve got this. Lights first while we’ve still got full daylight. We can do that table and chairs later if we have to.”

It takes a few minutes, but they find a rhythm with the lights then move on to setting up the table. Nicky arranges the chairs while Joe finds the table linens and dishes. When they’re finally checking “Flowers on the table” off the list, Nicky checks his phone again. “Two hours, just about.”

Joe grins, and Nicky has to grin back because there’s a feeling like they’re in on the joke together, that they’re a team.

“Not done with the food yet, let’s go.”

Back in the house, Nicky discovers the first downside of teaming up with Joe like this. All the running around in the yard and climbing the ladder has made them both a little sweaty, and he can smell it on Joe every time they pass each other. It’s everything he can do not to back Joe into the counter and lick his neck clean.

When the only thing left is to toss the berries in a little sugar and pull everything out of the oven, Nicky shoos Joe off to grab a shower.

“You’ve got breadcrumbs in your eyebrow and grease from the table leg up one side of your arm. You want to deal with your mother if you show up looking and smelling the way you do now? Because I know I don’t want to deal with mine.”

“What’s wrong with the way I smell?” Joe grins.

_Not a fucking thing._

“Go,” Nicky says, holding the tea towel at a threatening angle.

Joe’s back in fifteen minutes, wearing a clean shirt and smelling much less like someone Nicky needs to drag off into the underbrush. “Your turn. I still had some clothes in my old closet here, so I left a white dress shirt on a hanger in the bathroom. It’s clean, and it won’t be obvious that it’s mine.”

Like a relay race, Nicky passes off the silicone spatula. “Toss those in the sugar a little more, and then cover them and put them in the fridge.”

“No problem.” Joe tries twirling the spatula between his fingers and ends up dropping it into the berries. Nicky watches as he struggles to maintain his dignity while wiping blackberry juice off his chin. “Don’t say a word.”

The shirt may not obviously look like it’s Joe’s, but it certainly smells like it. Fresh from the shower, Nicky spares a second to be glad this isn’t the same soap and shampoo that Joe uses at home because a whole night smelling like he’s had Joe’s hands all over him might be more than Nicky can take.

He’s rolling the cuffs and sleeves up as he comes back into the kitchen. The berries are nowhere to be seen; they must have made their way into the refrigerator. At the counter, Joe is peeling back the foil on a few pans to check the food.

“You happy with this?” Joe asks.

Taking a peek as he steps up next to Joe, Nicky nods. “Looks good, smells even better.”

Joe winks at him. “Nice shirt.”

He pauses halfway through rolling up his right sleeve one last time, and smiles, can’t help but smile. “Thank you. And thank you for the loan.” Then, like it’s something they do five or ten times a day, like it’s so much a part of their routine it doesn’t even need a lead-in, like it’s as natural as breathing, Nicky leans forward and kisses Joe.

If time hadn’t stood still before they kissed, it certainly does after. Nothing moves, and suddenly the silence in the kitchen is louder than anything Nicky’s heard in his life. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears, can smell the soap on Joe’s skin. Every breath Joe takes sends a puff of air across Nicky’s mouth, making the hair stand up on his arms.

Joe stares into his eyes, a grin spreading across his face. “You’re welcome.”

Nicky, unable to do anything else, grins back.

“Are we going to talk about that?” Joe asks.

“Not right now,” Nicky says.

“Okay.” Joe pauses, and Nicky watches his tongue dart out to wet his lower lip.

‘Oh, fuck you, Joe,’ he thinks. Nicky wants to bite that same spot.

“Are we going to do it again?”

“Do you want to do it again?” Joe nods. “Right now?”

Looking at the clock on the microwave, Joe says. “We have to leave in two minutes.”

“Joe,” Nicky tries to keep it from being a groan.

“Yeah, okay. Yes.” He licks his lip again before closing that last bit of space between them and kissing Nicky again. It’s almost chaste; it’s simple and sweet. For all its simplicity, it leaves Nicky wanting nothing more than to grab Joe by the collar and drag him off to defile his childhood bedroom.

“Time to go?”

Joe nods. “Time to go.” Nicky wouldn’t have been able to pull away if Joe hadn’t done it first.

By unspoken agreement, they take Joe’s car. It’s quiet for most of the ride, both of them lost in thought. Nicky is thinking about everything that still needs to get done that night, he’s ticking things off his mental list, but over and over, he keeps coming back to how it felt to kiss Joe. How easy it had been and how it had felt like the perfect thing to do at the time.

In the spirit of doing things because it feels like the time is right, Nicky reaches out and curls his hand over Joe’s where it’s resting on the gear shift knob. With his thumb and forefinger, Joe squeezes the tip of Nicky’s littlest finger. The slightest gesture, but Nicky finds himself hiding his smile in his hand even as he’s staring out the window.

When they pull to a stop at a red light, Joe brushes his thumb over Nicky’s fingers and turns to face him. “More later, though, right?”

Nicky meets his eyes and nods. “Yes. Definitely more later.”

Joe’s smile is so small, but it fills every corner of Nicky’s heart.

When they pull up at the ceremony site, Nicky realizes that if they were trying to pretend everything was normal, they really shouldn’t have come in the same car.

Ellie waves him over. “Nicky?”

He cups her shoulders in his hands. “El, there’s been a problem, but it’s nothing earth-shattering, and I’m handling it.” She looks at him like she’s flipping through a mental scrapbook of all the times he’s kept a promise.

“If you say you’re handling it, that’s all I need to know.” She smiles, and he kisses her on the forehead.

It’s a fairly short rehearsal; they’ve all been to their fair share of weddings, so they know how this goes.

The rest of the wedding party goes up in pairs: Joe and Mia, Tyler and Viola, Amir and Olivia, with Anisa and Bianca bringing up the rear.

Tucking her arm in his, Ellie explains what the music will sound like. She tells him she’ll squeeze his arm when it’s time for them to go. She’s not wearing a veil over her face, so there’s no fussing about with that. He’s just going to kiss her and go sit down with his mother.

He’s going to kiss his little sister on the head and sit down so he can watch her marry someone who loves, and respects, and treasures her as much as Nicky knows she deserves. Someone who makes her laugh and think. Tarek still makes Ellie’s eyes light up every time she talks about him. Nicky makes a mental note to get the melodramatic weeping out of the way tonight so that he doesn’t embarrass her in the morning.

They run through it twice, just to make sure everyone understands where to go and so Ellie can make some notations about timing on her playlist.

“We’ll see everyone back at the house,” she says, kissing Nicky on the cheek.

In the car, Nicky asks, “Was Tarek as nervous as he looked?”

“Probably, but only because he’s worried he’ll mess things up for her.”

Nicky looks out the window and shakes his head. “As long as he’s standing at the end when she gets there, nothing could mess this up for her.”

He’s back to thinking about kissing Joe, about timing and how right it felt. Some part of him will always feel like he’s making up for the things he said early on, but maybe—

“So,” Nicky clears his throat. “Settle an argument for me.”

“What’s the argument?”

“Mia and I were talking the other day, and I said that fresh starts don’t work because everyone hangs on to stuff.”

“Okay.” Joe draws out the ‘y’ long enough to turn it into a question.

Nicky picks at the cuticle of one fingernail as he stares out the window. “Mia said fresh starts can work if all the parties agree to try, and they’re willing to put in the work.” He turns to look at Joe. “What do you think?”

Joe flicks his eyes up to the rearview mirror, checking the traffic around them and worrying at the corner of his mouth as he considers the question. “I think she’s right; it comes down to the people. Some first starts might be too hard to get past.”

Nodding, Nicky tries to ignore the fist squeezing his heart. He knows what Joe is saying, what Joe is thinking, that—no. He doesn’t know.

_Now we ask,_ he thinks, dragging his palms over his jeans. _Now we ask._

They’re sitting at a stoplight when Nicky finally says, “How about us? Could we get past our first start? Maybe move on to something more?”

Joe turns to him, and with a voice tight and husky with hope, meets him more than halfway. “Nicky. I think we already have.”

A rushing noise fills Nicky’s ears, so much so that he can barely hear himself say, “Okay. Good. Okay,” as he nods and smiles so wide his cheeks hurt. “Me too.”

Kissing. There should be kissing. He’s leaning over to taste Joe’s smile when the driver of the car behind them leans on his horn. Joe grins.

“Later.”

Nicky nods and slips his hand over Joe’s, feeling Joe’s thumb brushing back and forth over his fingers.

On a straight-away, Joe lifts Nicky’s hand and kisses the heel of his palm, right at the base of his thumb. Later, Nicky will realize that’s the exact spot he bites down on to keep quiet when Joe is torturing him with pleasure, and he’ll be very, very glad he’s not having dinner across the table from his mother like he was an hour earlier.

“We should talk about how to use our second chance.”

Nicky nods. “That could be a long conversation. Maybe longer than we have time for tonight.”

Joe smiles. “How about tomorrow? Oh, wait. I can’t. I’ve got a family thing.” He winks. “The day after?”

“If we sleep in the same place tomorrow night, we could discuss this over breakfast on Sunday.” Nicky’s keeping it together enough to sound composed, but his heart is singing.

“It’s a date.” Joe squeezes his hand.

Nicky can feel the joy building up inside him, pushing up into his throat until he’s so overwhelmed he doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or cry.

“Yes,” he says. “It is.”

When they get back to the house, Ellie is staring at the driveway, at the big spot where the caterer’s truck _isn’t._

“Is this what you’re handling?” Nicky nods. “Is it soup?”

He laughs. “Part of it is, but I promise the rest will make up for it.”

“No need to make up for anything. Thank you.” She wraps him in a hug, and Nicky can’t help but squeeze her a little tighter than usual. “I’m going to go—“she gestures toward the tent.

“Go on, I’ll see you over there.” Looking around, he spots his baby sister getting out of their mother’s car. “Hey, B.” When Bianca looks up, he says, “I need you.”

Bianca, unused to that sentiment going in her direction, says, “For what?”

He drapes his arm over her shoulders. “You know how you’ve been picking up waitressing shifts in the summers?”

Suddenly understanding what he’s saying, she says, “Just point me at it.”

In the kitchen, Joe points her at the things that need to go out first. “I’m on drinks duty,” he says.

Nicky puts the main dishes back in the oven to keep warm. By the time he gets out to the tent with the starters, everyone has a full glass and food in front of them.

The meal is, if anything, louder than Nicky had expected. The di Genovas are doing their best to talk over each other, trying to tell the best story. Tarek and the other two al Kaysani kids are chiming in with their own tales of misspent youth, and all the parents are throwing out good-natured protests at having to hear these things about their babies. Ellie’s invited a couple of her closest friends, and the two of them look utterly steamrolled. Part of Nicky is a little glad for the boisterousness. It’ll drive home to Bianca and the twins what kind of chaos partners of theirs need to be able to tolerate.

When everyone looks to be nearly finished with the starters, Nicky catches Joe’s eye and jerks his head toward the kitchen. Joe nods and excuses himself from the table. He finds Nicky moving food from pans to serving platters.

“In a white shirt, Nicky?” Joe snatches his father’s grilling apron from the hook and steps behind Nicky to drape it over his head. As he’s leaning in to tie it closed in the back, he brushes his mouth across Nicky’s neck, and Nicky has to grab the counter to keep from moaning Joe’s name.

“Menace.” He can almost hear Joe smirking in response.

Side by side, they get the chicken and shells onto the serving dishes. As he slides the last shell onto the tray, Joe says, “Hey, Nicky?”

“Hmm?” Nicky turns to him just in time to feel Joe’s mouth press against his. He wants to deepen this, wants to feel Joe moan into his mouth. He’s two seconds from putting the tray back on the counter and biting Joe’s lip the way he’s wanted to for hours when he hears the unfortunately familiar sound of Bianca clearing her throat.

“Keep it in your pants, boys. The chicken’s getting cold.”

Nicky cocks an eyebrow as he keeps eye contact with Joe. “Just for the record, no one likes Bianca.” He’s about to make another smart remark when Joe kisses him again, and he loses his train of thought entirely. Bianca starts laughing and doesn’t stop even as she picks up the serving tray and takes it out to the tent.

“I need to kiss you for hours.”

For a second, Joe’s eyes are dark and hungry. “I know. Not in my parents’ kitchen, though. Later?” Nicky nods. Yes. Later. If he gets to kiss Joe, it’s worth the wait. Joe pats him on the chest and takes one of the trays of chicken. “Grab the vegetables; I’ll see you back out at the table.” Nicky tries to kiss him again, but Joe darts out of the way.

As Nicky passes behind his mother to get to his seat, she reaches out and grabs his wrist, tugging until he bends close enough for her to speak into his ear. “I’m so proud of you.” After everything that’s happened today, this is what breaks Nicky. He whispers that he loves her, stands, and hurries back into the kitchen like he’s forgotten something. He takes a couple of minutes to compose himself and splash some cool water on his face. Out the kitchen window, he can see their families laughing and talking and being everything he thinks of when he hears the word’ family.’

Okay. Now he’s good. Now can go back out there and keep it together. He thinks. Joe meets him at the back door.

“Is everything okay?” Nicky nods, but Joe must be able to see the lingering blotchiness in his cheeks. “Did the day just catch up with you a little?” Shrugging, Nicky smiles. He expects another kiss, maybe a snarky but good-natured remark. At a stretch, he expects some attempt at consoling words.

He does _not_ expect to get Joe stepping into his space and wrapping him up in a hug. It undoes him.

Nicky clenches his eyes shut and buries his nose in Joe’s neck. He can feel Joe’s hand rubbing his back, the other still tight around his shoulders. The way he’s gripping Joe’s shirt, Nicky knows he’s going to leave big wrinkled patches on either side of his back. For a minute or two, they just stand there, and Nicky thinks that perhaps no one can understand how he’s feeling quite the way Joe can.

Joe kisses Nicky on the top of his head. “You ready to go back out?” Nicky nods. He tries to step back, but Joe’s arm is still around his shoulders. With his other hand, Joe cups Nicky’s jaw and kisses him so gently it’s like he thinks Nicky might break.

Like he thinks Nicky is precious.

Somehow, even as inauspiciously as it started, the dinner is a rousing success. Everyone helps with the dishes, and Viola and Olivia stack the chairs.

“Nicolo,” his mother says. “The girls are making some stops on the way home. You’ll drive me?” Nicky looks past her and sees Joe standing in the kitchen doorway. He must have heard her because he’s smiling at Nicky with a kind of half-smile that seems to say, ‘Oh well.’ Raising his hand in a farewell wave, Joe goes back to drying the dishes.

“Sure, Mama. I’ll drive you home.”

For most of the drive, she chatters, recapping the evening and talking about the favorite books she and Joe’s dad have in common. “I want to give you some books for him. You can drop them off when you pick up the pictures.”

“You got it.”

On his way out, he bends to hug her. “I love you.”

“I love you.” She wraps her arms around him, and for the second time that night, Nicky sags into a hug and lets himself lean on someone for a while. Eventually, she kisses him on the cheek and slips out of the car. “I’ll see you here in the morning?”

“Bright and early,” he says.

He stops for gas on the way home, and while the pump is running, he pulls out his phone and stares at his text thread to Joe. There is the angry, stilted conversation from two months ago, the texts after the cabin and their growing friendship, then the few back and forth questions about groceries earlier in the day today. It boggles his mind how little of them is here in these words. No one reading this would have the faintest clue how they got from bitter snapping to questions about which kind of cheese Nicky meant when he said ‘the good Parmesan.’

His thumb hovers over the keyboard for the better part of a minute. Finally, he types out a simple, _I wish I could kiss you good night,_ and leaves it at that. As he’s getting back into his car, he feels his phone vibrate. Seeing Joe’s name, Nicky slides the notification so he can see the message.

_Me too._

He can’t help but smile. It’s not quite the way he’d hoped to keep warm tonight, but it’ll do.

In the elevator up to his apartment, Nicky rolls his head on his neck, stretching his shoulders, and yawning. He catches sight of himself in the mirrored panel behind the elevator buttons and wonders if Joe would mind him keeping this shirt.

Still scrolling through the news on his phone, Nicky steps off the elevator and starts scheduling his morning. ‘I’m due at Mom’s by eight, so really I should be up by seven at the latest,’ he thinks as he rounds the corner to his hallway, ‘and even then, I’ll need to—’

Like the answer to a wish Nicky hadn’t even dared whisper, Joe is leaning against the door to his apartment.


	9. i’ve a terrible tongue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Joe had any doubt at all that he was doing the right thing, it vanishes the instant Nicky sees him. Joe's never seen that smile before, and he has no idea what it means or what Nicky might be thinking, but it makes Joe feel warm clear to his toes, and fuck if he doesn't want to do whatever it takes to see it again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience, y’all. This thing fought me like nothing else I’ve ever written, but I think I was able to beat it into submission. Many thanks to everyone who listened to me whining about it. ❤️ Extra thanks to the the person on tumble who introduced me to the song I had on repeat while revamping this, it really made all the difference!
> 
> I would apologize for how much of this is just smut, but as bff says, “Give the people their filth.”

If Joe had any doubt at all that he was doing the right thing, it vanishes the instant Nicky sees him. Joe's never seen that smile before, and he has no idea what it means or what Nicky might be thinking, but it makes Joe feel warm clear to his toes, and fuck if he doesn't want to do whatever it takes to see it again.

"You're here."

As Nicky steps into his space, Joe shrugs. "I heard you might want—"

Every one of his senses is suddenly full of Nicky. Not only the smell of his skin and the dry warmth of his hands as he cups Joe's face, but also the quick, shallow breaths brushing Joe's cheeks and the taste of Nicky's mouth against his. The very air around him is humming with Nicky, Nicky, Nicky.

His fingers itch to feel Nicky's hair slip between them, but that can wait. For once, they have time.

Pulling his mouth from Nicky's, Joe brings their foreheads together. "Did your mom get home okay?"

Nicky nods. "I dropped her off. How long have you been waiting for me?"

He leans back to look Nicky in the eye. "Who says I've been waiting for you?" At Nicky's dubious look, Joe smirks. "Maybe I met a guy in the club across the street, and he lives at the end of this hall. I just stopped here to tie my shoe."

Nicky's hands hit the door on either side of Joe's head, and he can almost feel the heat of Nicky's eyes as they trace the shape of his mouth. "Too bad for him."

"Is it time for us to talk about how we're using our second chance?" Rational, mature adults would discuss what the future holds and make sure they agree on where they want this to go. Whatever it is.

The tip of Nicky's tongue peeks out as he wets his lower lip. "No. Not tonight."

Good call. Fuck rational maturity.

They'll talk soon, about second chances, yes, but also about where they go from here. For now, though, there's only the heat of Nicky's lips against his and the sweet, hot grip of Nicky's arms sliding around him again.

Joe can't keep back a moan as Nicky hauls him forward, but the sound is cut off by the sharp bite of Nicky's keys digging into the small of his back. The pain gives him enough clarity to remember where they are and say, "Open the door."

Confused, panting, Nicky searches his face for an explanation. "What?"

"Open the door, Nicky. Unless you _want_ me to fuck you in this hallway with the chance your neighbors could walk by at any moment."

Nicky's mouth curls into a smile that makes Joe want to push his cock into it. Slowly. He crowds Joe back against the door, nosing under his chin to kiss his neck. The tickle of Nicky's breath on his skin makes Joe press up into the touch, and it means he's just distracted enough that when the door opens, he falls backward with a yelp and a reflexive grab for Nicky's shirt.

Well, a grab for his own shirt. It looks incredible on Nicky, though.

Nicky backs him into the apartment, kicking the door closed behind him and crowding Joe up against the nearest wall. Before, this would have been the time for Joe to start making smartass remarks or throwing up his other defense mechanisms. Not now. Tonight, he wants to kiss Nicky until he isn't starving for it anymore.

However long that takes.

Nicky's hair is just as soft as he remembers, and Joe twists his grip, tugging until their mouths nearly meet.

"I wanted to kiss you," he says. "At the cabin. In the morning."

Nicky blinks. "You did?" Joe nods, and there's that smile again. "Me too."

There's a flutter of something in Joe's chest, something he doesn't want to look at too closely, doesn't want to name. (He knows its name, and maybe soon he'll be ready to think it, even to himself.) It's been there since the cabin, been growing stronger since they got home. He wants to tell Nicky everything this night means to him, but where are the words to say that the clutch of Nicky's hands makes him feel wanted, desired? What's the right way to say that Nicky's smile at finding Joe waiting for him had been like basking in the first warm day of spring?

Perhaps if he'd anticipated these moments, these feelings, he could have practiced the right phrases, but how could he ever have expected that the brush of Nicky's nose against his cheek would fill him with so much joy he almost laughs out loud? Or that this sugar-sweet ache would fill his heart at the touch of Nicky's lips to the corner of his mouth and the stroke of Nicky's tongue against his upper lip?

After months of no kissing at all, after hours of chaste teases, feeling Nicky's mouth open under his is like surfacing after a dive. Joe feels Nicky's fingers dig into his waist, Nicky's mouth slant across his lips, and finally, fucking finally, Nicky's tongue sweet against his. He falls into the kiss like he wants to drown in it.

With the hand still buried in Nicky's hair, Joe tilts his head until it's at the right angle, sweeping in to lick all the secrets from his mouth. Gripping Nicky's neck with his other hand, Joe presses in with his thumb, and when Nicky groans with pleasure, Joe swallows it whole.

Like it pains him, Nicky breaks off the kiss and drops his head to Joe's shoulder. "Fuck, that feels amazing. Do it again?"

"Your neck?"

"Yeah." Joe digs his thumb into the hollow at the base of Nicky's skull and feels him shudder. Of course that feels good. Joe knows how much time Nicky spent on his feet, chopping and stirring things today.

"I bet your feet hurt, too." Nicky nods, and Joe almost laughs at how miserable he looks. He slips free from Nicky's arms and takes his hand. "Come on." Frowning, Nicky lets himself be led across the room. "If I remember correctly, you have a very large, very comfortable bed right through that door."

Laughing, Nicky says, "You only know that because I let the guys I bring home get past the couch."

Nicky, sprawled out against his navy blue sheets wearing nothing but Joe's white shirt unbuttoned all the way down the front, is not a sight Joe is in any way prepared for. Sitting astride Nicky's thighs, Joe drags his palm down the center of Nicky's chest.

He meets Nicky's eyes, wide and trusting and fathomless, then shakes his head as the last two weeks finally catch up to him. "What you just said. About the couch? That's the second time you've brought it up." Well, so much for not talking about this. "And when Tyler and Amir were teasing me about it, your face--" The words should be there, but they aren't. Joe is casting about trying to find the right thing to say when Nicky saves him.

"They were talking about you bringing people home. I realized I didn't want you to think of me like that, not that I have a problem with bringing people home for the night, clearly. Only, I wanted to be more, and that made me confused and scared, and I didn't know where it was coming from."

Oh, Nicky. Joe has to kiss him, just for being brave enough to say all that. "Look at you. I don't--"

Nicky's hands tighten on his hips. "Joe?"

Sitting up again, Joe says, "There's a thing you haven't asked about, but I want to say something anyway. I want to make sure you know." Nicky nods, and Joe runs his hand up Nicky's ribs, feeling the hairs against his palm. "When you asked if we could move on to something more, and I said we already had—"

"Joe, let me remind you that in the car, I'm the one who said 'it's a date.' I wasn't joking, and I didn't mean now we're friends who fuck _and_ kiss."

The brush of Nicky's thumbs over the points of his pelvis nearly makes Joe gasp. "Oh."

"You think if any other friend went an afternoon without texting me, I'd be checking in on them?"

Hearing Nicky say that, Joe feels like his heart is pushing at the inside of his ribs, and he almost laughs because that had been the very thing that did him in.

If Nicky were only smart, funny, and the best sex Joe's ever had, they might have been able to ease into something casual that could build from there, but no. Nicky had to go and fuck it up by checking up on Joe the night he was working late with gala preparations.

As soon as they'd hung up from that Facetime call, Nicky had sent one last text. _Thanks for letting me interrupt work. I just wondered how you were because I didn't have any texts from you when I got out of school._ That was all it took, the idea that Joe might have a place in Nicky's life, that his absence from that place would be noticed, that he'd been missed.

After that, Joe hadn't even tried to deny his growing feelings. He'd just looked at the Nicky-shaped hole in his heart and bitten his tongue to keep from finishing every video call with, 'Please tell me I'm not the only one feeling this. Do you miss me as I miss you? I can smell your skin when I close my eyes, and I would move planets for you to be falling asleep next to me.' He'd started every day with that ache inside him, and every text from Nicky made it somehow better and worse all at once.

"On the other hand, perhaps there's a reason for your confusion." The playful note in Nicky's voice does something obscene to Joe's brain. "I'm sure I could clear things up with some more kissing."

"Just some?"

"Joe," Nicky says in a voice that's most of the way to a growl. Falling forward onto his hands, Joe brushes their mouths together again and again, until Nicky reaches up and grabs his head holding him still. "You were flattening that chicken, and do you know what I was remembering?"

"The firewood?"

"The firewood, and your ridiculous back muscles, and how much I wanted to taste your skin. So quit fucking around and--"

Joe kisses Nicky like he might die if he doesn't. When they come up for air, he drags his nose up the side of Nicky's neck. There's that smell he'd longed for, Nicky's warm skin.

"Believe me; you weren't the only one distracted. Fuck, Nicky, your hands." Joe takes Nicky's wrist and strokes the heel of his hand. "This is my favorite part of your hands. Do you know why?" Nicky shakes his head. "Because this is the part you bite down on when you're trying not to howl as you come." He presses a kiss there. "Besides, you know what watching you cook does to me."

"Do I? I'm afraid you're going to have to remind me."

Some kisses are tender declarations, plush-lipped stamps on a letter of devotion. Not this one. Nicky's composure crumbles a little more with every sweep of Joe's tongue. Biting his way along Nicky's jaw, he only stops when he can suck Nicky's lower lip into his mouth, dragging his teeth over it. Nicky moans and squirms under him, and Joe has to physically hold himself back from grinding down and rutting against him.

Instead, he stretches out so they're beside each other on the bed, propping himself on one elbow, so he can duck in for another kiss whenever he wants. They worked for this, to get to a point where Joe can look into Nicky's eyes and not feel anxious, or defensive, or wary. Instead, he can cup Nicky's face and run his thumb across one high cheekbone before kissing him so sweet and slow it feels like this kiss could stretch out forever.

They kiss until Joe can feel his pulse in his lower lip where it's been rubbing against Nicky's stubble. He ducks his head down to kiss Nicky's neck again, drinking in the smell of warm skin. Sighing like a contented cat, Nicky stretches under him and lets his eyes fall closed. Joe's plan is to kiss that spot some more; maybe he'll eventually move back to Nicky's mouth. His body has other ideas.

He wakes up with his face smashed into the side of Nicky's neck, and a quick check of his phone shows they've been dozing for half an hour or so. "Nicky," he says, low and soft.

Nicky grumbles, but he lets Joe finish taking the shirt off. He even helps by kicking his jeans off until they're in a heap on the floor. Joe drapes their clothes over the chair by Nicky's window and turns off the light as he slips beneath the covers. In the moonlight, he can see that Nicky's arms are open, and his sleepy eyes haven't quite closed yet.

_My life was fine before,_ he thinks. _I had family and laughter and hobbies, and it felt full and wonderful. I didn't know how many empty spaces there were until you filled them._

Joe takes it for the invitation is and lets Nicky hold him. It feels different, having Nicky's arms around him now. He doesn't have to hold back or question motives; he can sink into the joy of being held by someone who makes his heart sing. They'll get back to the kissing soon enough, but maybe he'll just close his eyes for a minute.

Movement wakes Joe a few hours later, and he turns to see Nicky climbing back into bed. The bathroom light is still on, so it's just bright enough in Joe's bedroom for him to see that Nicky's shoulders are wet, and there are water drops beading on his arm, clinging to the hairs. He's toweled off his head, but his hair is still damp and curling at the ends like it had in the hot tub.

Joe hadn't been able to reach out and touch back then, so he's making up for lost time. He strokes the back of Nicky's neck, toying with the hairs at the nape of his neck before cupping Nicky's face and tugging him down for a kiss.

"Hi," Nicky says, his voice so easy and the look in his eyes so warm that for just a second, Joe feels like his skin is too tight, like everything he's felt growing in the last few weeks is suddenly too much, and it might split him open.

"Where've you been?"

"Shower. My shoulders were still stiff, and I wanted to clean up a bit."

With one knuckle, Joe traces the line of Nicky's neck just to watch him shudder under the touch. "Feel better?" Nicky nods. "Good. Next time, I want to help." Something burns behind Nicky's eyes. "What time is it?"

Nicky checks his phone. "A little after five."

"When are you due at your mom's?"

"Eight."

Both of them have long days ahead. They need to be up early, and the day will be nearly non-stop until after dark. Smarter men would kiss a bit more, then curl up in bed and get another three hours of sleep, feeling confident they'll get their wild night soon enough.

Tonight, Joe doesn't want to be smart; he wants to be Nicky's.

"I've been thinking, Joe."

"Have you? Or have you been plotting?"

"What? No!" Nicky's innocent face is nearly cartoonish. Someone should kiss that look right off his face.

Joe, tonight, you _are_ someone.

Running his hand down Nicky's ribs, Joe rolls until he can arch over Nicky, dipping his head for a kiss. He sighs into it, clutching Nicky's waist. He's been dreaming about this, them next to each other, Nicky lifting his chin to deepen their kiss. He'd pictured it and tried to imagine every sound. He hadn't even come close.

For one thing, his mind could never have gotten just the right tone for Nicky's low, rumbling moan. Then there's the smell of Nicky's freshly clean skin, Joe's never smelled it like that before.

"Nicky." The spot below Nicky's jaw is crying out for Joe to nip at it, and who is he to argue?

"Fuck! Yes!" Joe laughs around the sliver of skin he has held between his teeth. There's nothing like this, like the feeling of unraveling Nicky.

He pulls back, dropping a few more kisses, close-mouthed and soft, against Nicky's lips.

The sharp sting of fingernails digging into his arms catches Joe's attention enough that Nicky can hook one leg around Joe's and flip them.

One second, Joe is looking down at Nicky, moving under him; the next, he's on his back with Nicky's thighs on either side of his hips. Joe can actually feel his cock jerk as it gets, suddenly, almost painfully hard.

"As I said, I've been thinking if I came back to bed and told you I'd gotten cleaned up," he bends so he can murmur in Joe's ear, "you might let me ride you." Nicky rocks his hips back on the last word, dragging his weight across Joe's cock and making Joe's vision white out. He kisses the spot behind Joe's ear before he sits up again.

Oh, Nicky. You beautiful man.

Joe grabs Nicky's ass, letting his fingernails bite into the skin until Nicky hisses. "Is that why you took a shower at five in the morning, as opposed to after your alarm goes off in a few hours? Because you want me to fuck you?"

He gasps again, and Joe wants to bathe in that. Every sound is a stroke across Joe's skin, teasing him as surely as a hand around his cock. "Maybe." Nicky grins and skims his palms over Joe's nipples. Oh, this little shit. Joe can tell by the look on his face that Nicky thinks he's got this one in the bag. He's got Joe under him, he's smirking, and he's basically threatening Joe with a good time.

Gritting his teeth to keep from bucking his hips up, Joe says, "What if I don't want to fuck you?"

Nicky rears back, one eyebrow crawling nearly up into his hairline. "You don't—"

Joe has to bite his tongue to not laugh at how taken aback Nicky looks. There is nothing, _nothing_ as good as mentally fencing with this man; he's known that from the first night. Joe wants to do this for hours, for days, maybe even for—Not now, later.

He slides his hands up to Nicky's waist. "What if I want you to fuck yourself with my cock?"

Nicky's throat bobs, and his eyes go hot. "Well, if I'm going to do all that work, you're the one who has to get me ready." He rocks his hips back again.

"Kissing first," Joe says, hooking Nicky by the neck and pulling him close. Nicky moans into his mouth, and Joe takes it all, sucking it in along with Nicky's lower lip. Draping himself along the length of Joe's body, Nicky sighs into the kiss.

When Nicky's hand tightens on his shoulder, Joe licks into Nicky's mouth and rolls his body against Nicky's leg, slipped between his own.

It's silly, almost, in the middle of all this, but Joe needs to hold him, just for a second. He takes a moment to be grateful they didn't lose this, that they were both brave enough to ask, to put in the work. The way Nicky fits into his arms, his life, is wonderful and entirely unexpected, and they came so close to missing out. From the way Nicky's face is buried in his neck, Joe thinks he might not be the only one feeling this way.

The friction of Nicky swaying his hips brings Joe back to the present, to this delicious tease of a man, and he thinks he could happily come just from kissing and rocking their bodies together. Maybe another time; tonight, Nicky's got plans for them. "On your back, then."

Nicky grins, rolling onto his back and sliding his arms under the pillow that's cradling his head.

Joe's mouth goes dry. Will there come a day when seeing Nicky laid out like a feast doesn't affect him like this? Maybe, but unlikely, and really there's only one way to find out.

"Everything's in there," Nicky says. His nightstand is significantly more organized than his toiletry bag had been, so Joe finds everything easily.

Tucking the lube under his arm to let it warm up, Joe surveys his options. "You want me to open you?" Nicky nods. "Finger you and stretch you?" Another nod and Joe doesn't miss the hungry glint of Nicky's eyes. "Of course you do."

Nicky drops his knees open, and Joe has to bite down on his tongue not to laugh. If he thinks Joe's going to rush this, he's in for a nasty surprise. Bending, Joe smiles and wraps his mouth around the head of Nicky's cock, feeling it pulse against his tongue. He's missed this in the last few weeks. Every noise Nicky makes is music to Joe's ears.

The moan as Joe sucks the head of his cock, the sigh as Joe kisses his way up, and down the shaft, Joe is drinking them in until he's heady with the sounds. His favorite is the little sob when Joe strokes his hand far enough up Nicky's cock that Joe can gently tug at the foreskin with his lips.

He sucks on Nicky's balls, first one and then the other, rolling them in his mouth and loving the way it makes Nicky whine. When he gets desperate enough, Nicky curls his hips up, and Joe hears a new kind of sob.

The tip of Nicky's cock, pink and slick and exposed, is too much temptation for Joe, and he has to taste it. Nicky's hands fist in the sheets at his sides.

Groaning behind clenched teeth, Nicky says, "Is this because I told you to quit fucking around earlier?"

"Well, it's not _not_ because of that."

"Joe, if you don't—"

"You'll what?" He licks the head of Nicky's cock again, stroking it and watching the skin ride up and over the head, then back down.

"Leave?"

Joe laughs. "It's _your_ apartment."

"The couch is very comfortable!"

Joe looks at Nicky's weeping cock, swipes his finger over the slit, and sucks it clean. "Maybe I'll just suck you instead."

Nicky drags one arm up over his face and bites down on his lower lip.

"I'm being merciful because we're on a schedule, but some night? When there's nothing to do the next day? I'm going to play all I want."

Nicky grumbles something that might be, "Vicious motherfucker," but it's hard to tell with his teeth buried in his lip like that.

"Over on your front. Go on."

He turns to check the time on his phone, and when he looks back, he sees Nicky, legs spread wide.

"Look at you." He swats Nicky's ass and watches the impact of his hand spread across one impossibly tempting cheek. "Are you making it easier for me to get to the job at hand, or do you just open yourself like that on instinct?" Putting a curve into his lower back, Nicky lifts his ass a little higher. "You shameless slut," Joe says, hearing the joy and wonder in his own voice. Nicky's hips drop, and he grinds his cock against the sheets. Joe laughs and slaps his ass again. "None of that."

Since Nicky's gone to the trouble of making room, Joe moves so that he's between Nicky's knees and bends to kiss the swell of one ass cheek. "Keeping this hidden in jeans so ugly is a crime, Nicky." Joe palms each side of it and squeezes, spreading him at the same time.

"We're talking about my clothes again?"

Joe tugs his glove on. "In this room? It seems fitting."

Nicky's laugh is cut off by the swipe of Joe's tongue against the skin behind his balls. The way he says, "Oh," like it's a sweet surprise, makes Joe's pulse race. "Up a little," he says, and when Nicky obliges, Joe slides a pillow under his hips.

For a few minutes, Joe refuses to settle in any one spot, just for the sheer sensual pleasure of trying a little bit of everything. The meat of Nicky's ass in his hands, Joe drags his tongue across Nicky's hole. When Nicky gasps, Joe feels his cock throb in answer. Another lick, and Nicky is moaning, trying to push back into the touch.

"Not just shameless," Joe says. "Loud and shameless." His laugh is little more than a huff of breath, and he watches Nicky's hole twitch as the air blows across it.

When Joe is sure the lube is above freezing, he pours some over his fingers and drags them against Nicky's hole. "Is this what you wanted?"

"Yes!"

"Just like this?"

"Please."

When Joe doesn't move, Nicky seems to get the hint. "Please rub me and slip your fingers into me."

'Better,' Joe thinks, and that's when the universe, and Nicky, decide to punish him for his smugness.

"Please rub my hole until I beg you for more, and then fuck me open on your fingers. Please put them in a little sooner than you think you should, so I feel that aching stretch. Please fuck me open with your fingers so I can take your cock."

It feels like someone's released all the air from Joe's lungs by tugging on his balls. He's breathless and throbbing. He takes a second to recover a little. "I asked for that."

To his credit, Nicky doesn't laugh. Much. "You did."

Joe rubs at his hole again, and Nicky's laugh dies in his throat. When he pushes in with one slick finger, Nicky exhales a breath Joe hadn't known he was holding. "More?" Nicky asks, and who is Joe to argue?

Later, Nicky will insist Joe takes hours to stretch him open, taking breaks to lick at his rim and drop sucking kisses everywhere else he can reach. Really, it takes nothing like that long, and Joe might have wanted to stretch it out longer, but Nicky starts moaning and swearing, and who knows how soundproof these walls truly are.

"You think you're ready? Think I've got you stretched enough?"

Nicky pushes back against his fingers, arching his back and hissing, but Joe only has ears for the sloppy, wet popping sound as he slicks three fingers easily in and out of Nicky's ass.

Somehow, Nicky finds the last threads of his coherence and knits them together enough to say, "I'm rolling over now, and if your fingers are still there, I'm taking them with me."

What else is Joe supposed to do except grin and move to the side, letting Nicky have the room he needs. He pulls his glove off and drops it in the trash before swigging some water from the bottle on the nightstand.

"Come here," Nicky says. Joe feels that hot stare in the marrow of his bones.

For all that Joe loves making Nicky a sobbing wreck, that tone of voice coils up in his belly like a ribbon of heat. Laying on his side, facing Nicky, Joe tilts his head for a kiss. Instead, he feels the drag of Nicky's thumb across his lower lip.

"You lick right here when you're thinking hard about something. Did you know that?" He hadn't, actually. "Every time I see your tongue peek out, it's like I can feel you licking me. It's incredibly distracting."

"I'm sorry."

Nicky kisses him, sweeps his tongue into Joe's mouth, and tastes the lie in his words. "No, you're not."

Joe smirks, "No, I'm not."

Narrowing his eyes, Nicky pushes Joe over on his back. He tears the condom open and rolls it down the length of Joe's cock, smirking as Joe twitches in his hand, then straddles his waist.

The slick heat of Nicky's hole is so close to the tip of his cock. So close. Joe can feel it. He could just push up, and— Nicky puts a hand on his chest.

"No. You just lay there. Right there. I've figured you out." Joe can hear the playfulness in Nicky's tone, so he returns the look.

"Oh, you've got me all solved, do you?" Joe digs his fingers into Nicky's hips. "Go on, enlighten me."

Nicky bends and nips the skin over Joe's throat. He says, "There it is again. Just can't stop being a smartass, can't stop picking at me and pushing, even after you're under me like this." Sitting up, he reaches back and takes Joe's cock in his hand, squeezing it. "Even after you're this hard, you still run your mouth, and it took me so long to work out why."

Joe wants to fuck himself into the grip of Nicky's hand. "Are you going to share with the class?"

Something in Nicky's eyes glitters, and, oh, he's in for it now. That coil of heat in his belly wraps around his balls.

"It's because otherwise, the truth would be obvious to everyone who looked." Joe rolls his hips as if to urge Nicky to get the fuck on with it. Nicky doesn't say a word until Joe's hips still. "The truth is, Joe, you just want this so fucking much."

Joe cocks an eyebrow. "Do I?" Nicky's right; he can't stop pushing.

The sting of Nicky's nails bites into Joe's chest as he curls the hand not holding Joe's cock. "Yes, you do." Nicky pinches his nipple hard enough that Joe's hips buck up, sending Nicky pitching forward. Taking advantage of his new position to whisper in Joe's ear, Nicky says, "You might be able to hide it from everyone else, but you can't keep it from me." Sitting up again, Nicky strokes his fingers down the front of Joe's neck. "Not when I can see your face, not when I can hear every pretty noise you make."

He pats around until he finds the lube where Joe left it, pouring some into his hand and slicking Joe's cock with it. Joe doesn't even try to keep still. He knows Nicky will tease him about it, _wants_ Nicky to tease him about it. The lift of his hips catches Nicky's attention. "You're arching into my touch. Are you offering yourself to me, Joe? Are you offering me your cock so I can ride it until I scream?" Joe nods. "Liar." Nicky grins and tightens his grip, stroking Joe's cock. "You're not even doing that on purpose. You're just so desperate to be inside me you can't help it."

Releasing Joe's cock, Nicky leans forward, making sure Joe has nothing to rut against. "Your cock is so hungry for touch you're humping the air." At the tone of perverse pity in Nicky's voice, Joe can feel his face flush with heat. He bites down on his lips, trying not to make a sound.

The heat of Nicky's finger burns a path across Joe's jaw, and even with his mouth bitten shut, he's still nearly begging with each little whimper that crowds behind his lips.

"There's no point in hiding your eyes when you're giving yourself away every time you sigh, every time you give me one of those sweet little noises. You're so needy it's making _me_ drip." Joe forces his eyes open to see Nicky holding his own cock, one clear drop running down the front of it.

With his other hand, Nicky reaches back and grips Joe again. It takes a couple of tries because Nicky's hand is so slick with lube that he's having a hard time holding Joe's cock in place as he pushes down against it. The first few times, Nicky barely lets Joe's cock touch his hole before he moves away, and Joe's fingers can't get the right angle to push Nicky backward, so he has to deal with the kiss of Nicky's heat against his head over and over.

The moment Nicky takes mercy on him, and Joe feels himself push into the impossibly tight grip of Nicky's hole, he can't utter a sound. He knows his face is screwed up, and his mouth is hanging open, but his wails are silent.

When Nicky stops pushing back, the head barely inside him, Joe tries to pull him down further. He's panting and trying to fuck himself up into Nicky's heat. His whole world comes down to the clench of Nicky's ass around the head of his cock, and the stroke of Nicky's fingers across his face.

It takes longer than he'd like for him to focus on Nicky. "There you are. Let me see those gorgeous eyes—You—"

Anyone else would have missed that little skip of space between words, but Joe hears it for what it is. He knows what word goes there. Nicky's been so good about not saying it, about doing just as Joe asked, but—Joe grips his arm, and Nicky looks down at him, searching his face.

"Please."

It's barely a whisper, but Nicky hears it all the same. He cups Joe's jaw in one wide hand and holds his gaze.

"Oh, baby."

Joe blinks away the tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. This is why. This is the reason he asked Nicky to stop. It should feel like this when Nicky uses that name, not some fleeting glimpse of this joy swallowed whole by the regret that came fast on its heels. It should feel perfect. It does.

Nicky brushes his thumb over Joe's beard. "Baby, you feel so good. Do you want me to take more of your cock now?"

"Please, Nicky. Please."

Rolling his hips, Nicky slides down a little more, and Joe sobs; he can't help it, doesn't want to. "Listen to you. When are you going to stop denying it? That's what you're doing; every time you hold back a whine or a moan, you're trying to deny what we both know—that you're greedy for me to fuck you."

Every cell in his body is straining for more of Nicky, more of his touch, more of his heat, just more. Nicky rocks back onto his cock, and Joe sees stars at the edges of his vision.

"Who's the shameless slut now?"

Nicky's right. He's a mess, writhing and needy and so desperate to be buried inside Nicky.

"You want me to take the rest of you?"

Helplessly, in a way that would embarrass him if he were any more coherent, Joe lets out a little mewling sound as he nods. Nicky's got most of Joe's cock wrapped in his wet heat. It's very nearly all Joe can feel. He's been dreaming about this, stroking himself thinking about it.

"Of course you do. Give it to me; let me have the rest of your cock." Just as Joe pushes up, Nicky slides forward, pulling away from Joe. "Oh, I think that's your best noise yet—that little wailing sound. I don't know which is better, the noise itself or the way you're so desperate you didn't even try to stop it. Should I do it again? I wonder what sound you'll make this time."

"No, Nicky, pl—" A desperate, hiccuping gasp cuts his words him half as Nicky circles his hips. "Please!"

Nicky fucks himself on the half of Joe's cock he's taken in, and Joe feels his toes curl. "Do you need it?" His tone is just this side of patronizing, and it shouldn't make Joe's balls throb the way it does.

He nods, but he knows that's not going to be enough. "I need you to fuck me. I need you to fuck all of me."

Nicky strokes his face again. "Of course you do," he coos. "Someone who wants it as much as you do, as greedy as you are, would never be satisfied with me taking anything less than your whole cock. You need me to fuck you so hard you're buried inside me. I know." Nicky slips down that last little bit, and Joe can feel that achingly tight grip around the base of his cock. The noise that punches its way out of Joe's throat is guttural and thick, and fuck, Nicky feels perfect.

"Oh, Joe," Nicky sighs, stretching his name out until it's a groan.

"Can I—"Joe swallows the rest of his question as Nicky rocks back onto his cock. They've been teasing themselves as much as they've been teasing each other, and though they may want this to go on for hours, Joe can already feel his skin beginning to buzz with the coming climax. The steady rhythm Nicky sets is driving them even closer.

"Do you want me to go faster?"

Yes. No. He wants to come, and he wants Nicky to ride him until they're both helpless with need. He wants everything. What hits him, what makes his hips stutter as he tries to drive them up into Nicky's downstroke, is the realization that this isn't the only time he can have this. There's no need to fit everything in this one night.

Nicky must really be able to see everything on his face.

"Baby, you have to tell me," he says, and his voice has lost most of it's lost most of the tease from the last few minutes.

Joe holds Nicky's hips, stroking his thumbs over the points of Nicky's pelvis. "I want it faster now if I can ride you slow later."

"Oh," Nicky says like a sigh. "Joe." He's quiet for a few seconds, rocking his hips back, fucking himself onto Joe's cock over and over, and Joe can't shake the feeling he's trying to get his thoughts straight. "I like how honest you are when you give up pretending you're not desperate for it," Nicky rocks back. "What if later I want you on your knees so I can fuck you into the headboard?"

Nicky clenches down around Joe's cock, and he gasps. "However you want it."

Dropping forward, Nicky braces himself with one hand beside Joe's head and the other not-quite over his heart. "We can discuss our plans later. For right now, why don't you see how loud you can make me?"

Joe tilts his chin up. He hasn't kissed Nicky in far too long. Nicky sighs and opens, letting Joe taste him, nip at his lip, stroke their tongues together. Joe sinks into it, pushing his hand into Nicky's hair. He uses that grip to bring Nicky closer, kiss him deeper. Joe feels the wet head of Nicky's cock drag against his belly as he licks away every moan.

When the kiss breaks, Nicky drops his forehead to rest against Joe's. He lets out a pleased little hum as Joe's hands tighten over his hips again. That hum turns to a startled gasp as Joe uses every bit of leverage he has to fuck his cock into Nicky. He loves every noise Nicky makes. The way he sighs when Joe kisses his neck or the way he groans when Joe tells him a terrible joke. Joe shifts his hips and starts thrusting again, finding a new sound. This is the way Nicky gasps if the head of Joe's cock drags against just the right spot inside him.

Joe memorizes that sound. He memorizes the angle, too.

"So desperate, Joe. What is it you want? You want to make me come, sweetheart? Want to feel it on your skin? Or do you want to feel how tight I get when I can feel you pushing your come up into me?" Joe doesn't know, and he can't concentrate enough to answer. Right now, he just wants.

There is one thing he can articulate, and he isn't ashamed at how much his asking sounds like begging. "Stroke yourself. Please, Nicky."

"Greedy," Nicky says, and it's so fond, as if Joe's neediness, his desperation to be used for Nicky's pleasure is simply endearing. Nicky holds out his hand for Joe to lick, and Joe gets it as wet as he can. Sitting up, Nicky curls his slick hand around himself and starts stroking. When Joe doesn't move, staring at Nicky's hand instead, Nicky stops. It takes Joe a second to catch up.

Once Joe is thrusting into him again, Nicky returns to stroking himself. "You're so perfect, Joe. Stretching me just right. How do you feel?"

"Good. So good."

"I know. It's right there on your face. The way you can't keep your eyes open, the way you almost look like you're in pain. It must feel incredible to you, having me so tight around you. You needed it, baby, I know. Listen to those sounds you're making, little desperate noises like you can't take being out of me even a little. Like you want to fuck your way deeper into me. Even when I've got every bit of you, you still need more." He sighs, sweeps his thumb over the head of his cock, and rocks back again. "Fuck. My Joe, so greedy." Watching Nicky's face, Joe sees the moment when he drags his prostate across Joe's cock.

After that, Nicky has no more words. Joe can see the focus on his face, the way his shoulders curl in, and his breathing speeds up. Nicky's chasing his orgasm, and Joe just wants to help get him there. He keeps thrusting, pulling each time Nicky drops down. Hand speeding up, Nicky strips himself so fast Joe wonders if it hurts. Nicky doesn't seem to mind.

As he's casting around for other ways to push Nicky over the edge, Joe's attention catches on the silence. All he can hear is the slip of Nicky's hand over his cock and the sound of Nicky panting. There is room in that silence for so many words.

"Nicky, I can't wait to see you come. I need to see your face when you can't hold back anymore." Like Joe's words are an extra hand around him, Nicky's face tightens with pleasure. That's all Joe needs for encouragement. "I need to feel you clenching around me; come on. The whole time you've been riding me, I've been thinking about how hot it'll feel against my skin when you paint me with your come. Please, Nicky, you're right. I want it so much. I need it."

With the tiniest sob, the tension falls from Nicky's face as his hand stills, and Joe can see his fingers move with the pulse of his cock emptying onto Joe's chest and belly.

"Oh fuck, yes, Nicky. Just like that." Digging his fingers into that perfect ass, Joe keeps the image of Nicky's face, slack with pleasure, at the front of his mind. He hears Nicky's voice praising him as he pushes in again and again. Crying out, Nicky's cock pulses one last time, and Joe feels that heat that's been building in his limbs finally burst. He grinds himself into Nicky's ass as far as he can and holds himself there as he finally, finally comes. Bright spots appear at the edges of his vision, but Joe just rides it out, unable to stop until he feels the throbbing in his cock slow and eventually stop.

Braced with both hands on Joe's chest, Nicky looks at him, meets his eyes.

How is Joe supposed to resist giving this man anything he wants?

"It's better with kissing," Joe says.

Nicky laughs, and he sounds exhausted. "It's so much better with kissing." He looks almost sheepish for a second. "Can you reach into that drawer and hand me a couple of wipes?" Joe can feel his face twitch with a confused expression, but he smooths it out almost before it starts.

"Sure." Nicky uses one wipe to clean them both off, tossing it into the bin when he's finished.

"I could have gotten it myself," Nicky says, and Joe sees something soft and vulnerable at the corners of his mouth. "But I didn't want to pull off you yet."

Joe opens his arms, and Nicky falls into them. He's going to soften enough to slide out on his own in a second or two, but he'll deal with that when it happens. Nicky's cheek is an odd mix of bristly and smooth under Joe's lips, but when he kisses Nicky's head, all that hair is a soft as it's ever been.

"I can help with that. I'm going to roll us over, okay?" When he feels Nicky nod against his neck, Joe hooks a heel over Nicky's leg and flips them.

As he'd guessed, his softening cock slides out of Nicky as they move, but Joe slips two fingers in as fast as he can. With the other hand, he pulls the condom off, pinching it shut. "Can I make it to the bin from here?"

"Maybe, but you'd better tie it shut first."

"You do it."

Nicky laughs and looks at him. "Why can't you do it?"

Joe scissors his fingers open and listens to Nicky hiss. "I'm holding my place."

The shout of Nicky's laughter bounces around the room and settles in Joe's chest, warming him to the tips of his toes.

"You're a terrible man, Joe." Nicky cups his face, pulling him in for a kiss. "Just terrible."

Joe rubs his thumb over the rim of Nicky's hole, feeling it clench around him. "You good?"

Nicky nods, lifting his head to kiss Joe's mouth again as Joe slips his fingers free. He keeps kissing Nicky through the sad little moan that comes as he clenches down around nothing. Tying the condom off and dropping it into the bin, Joe wipes his hands clean and slides down in the bed, facing Nicky.

"Did you see what time it was?"

Joe noses under Nicky's chin, kissing his jaw. "Six-thirty," he says, his words muffled by the curve of Nicky's neck. "When are you due at the house?"

Carding his fingers through Joe's curls, Nicky sighs. "I said I'd be there by eight. We should get up."

"Counter-proposal. We set the alarm for quarter past seven, you shower while I make coffee, and we leave by 7:30."

"I'm showering?"

"You're welcome to walk your sister down the aisle smelling like come. I just didn't think that would interest you."

"My mother would kill me." Nicky laughs.

"I'm planning on grabbing a shower at Tarek's, so I can be on coffee duty."

"Proposal accepted," Nicky says, ignoring the way Joe's already setting the alarm even before he agrees. He rolls onto his side and tucks himself into the curve of Joe's body. Joe wraps his arm around. Nicky's chest, feeling Nicky's fingers thread into his.

He has things to say, but they can wait a bit.

True to his word, Joe has coffee waiting for Nicky by the time he's out of the shower. Given that they're changing into tuxes later, they don't spend too much time thinking about their outfits for the morning.

"Is that my shirt?"

"First of all, you wore my shirt for most of yesterday. Second, today is for Ellie and Tarek, not for picking on me until they find out why I'm wearing the same clothes I had on last night. So yes, this is your shirt."

Nicky's lips twitch like he wants to laugh, but he bites it back. "Okay."

On the street in front of Nicky's building, Joe turns to him.

"Why is it suddenly awkward for the first time in hours?"

"I don't know."

"Wait," Joe says. "I think I know how to fix it."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Hold still; I'm going to try something."

This is nowhere Joe would have expected to be six months ago, standing in the street, in broad daylight, giving Nicky the filthiest kiss Joe's ever given anyone while his clothes were still on, but here they are.

It feels as good as every other kiss they've shared.

"Nicky?"

"Mm?" Nicky blinks his eyes open, and Joe can watch them focus on him.

"Come home with me tonight?"

The look on Nicky's face as he's getting ready to be an absolute shit is something Joe will never forget.

"How sturdy is your headboard?"

"No idea," Joe says. What happens next is not so much a kiss as it is pressing their smiles together, but it's perfect. Joe nips at Nicky's earlobe just to listen to him hiss. "Wouldn't it be fun to find out?"

Nicky rolls his head to the side, and Joe takes the invitation for what it is and kisses the warm skin under Nicky's jaw. "I'll think about it."

"You do that. I'll see you later?" Nicky asks.

"Wouldn't miss it."

Stopping for coffee and something to eat, Joe rolls up to Tarek's apartment just before nine. He lets himself in, not wanting to wake Tarek, but the man himself greets Joe in the kitchen.

"Hey, you're early."

"I got up and moving faster than I'd expected."

There's a smile tugging at the corner of Tarek's mouth, and if Joe were smarter or less fucked out, he'd have caught it by now.

"Yeah? No crazy night keeping you up late?"

"Pretty quiet," Joe says, rifling through the refrigerator and pulling out the orange juice.

"You didn't go out last night?"

"No."

"No hot date?"

Joe pours himself a glass and drinks half of it in one go. "Nope."

"Nothing you want to tell me?"

Let it go, Tarek. "No."

"And that's not the same shirt Nicky was wearing when he dropped some stuff off for El last week?"

Joe sighs. "Tarek, please, can we not talk about this right now?"

"Sure. I'm happy to wait until Tyler and Amir get here later."

"Shit."

Well, this just keeps getting better.

Tarek's laugh suddenly sounds so much less charming and pleasant than it had earlier. "Man, we don't ever have to talk about this if you don't want to. I just need to know one thing."

"What's that?"

"Was this a casual, one-time thing?"

Joe lets the silence play out, refusing to look up from his glass.

"Oh." Yes, Tarek. How eloquent of you. "Is it a casual many-time thing?"

Can Tarek see that Joe's eyes are begging him just to drop this? Clearly not.

"That changes things." He looks at Joe's face, really looks at it. "You like him." Tarek scrubs his hand across his jaw. "Oh. You don't just like him. Wow, Yusuf, your timing is amazing." The laughing goes on much longer than is strictly necessary, in Joe's opinion. "Please, please let me be the one to tell Ellie."

"What?"

"Joe, you're our brothers. You think this didn't occur to us? You think we haven't been planning how to get you two to kiss and make up after the wedding stuff was over? Ellie's wanted you to meet Nicky for years. We both have."

When did everything in his life stop making sense?

"That's one reason she was so upset by you guys fighting. She's calmed down about that, though."

"Because we've been friends."

"No. Because I told her it might not be a lost cause since the two of you couldn't keep your eyes off each other at the cabin."

"Great. I'm surprised you didn't all suddenly find some reason to leave us alone in the hot tub."

Tarek snorts. "Not a chance. If you got one inkling I was trying something like that, you'd have spooked and run. I just sat back and played the long game." He shoves the better part of a piece of toast in his mouth."

"The long game being the one where you don't do anything, but you still call it the long game?"

He shrugs, swallowing the last of his toast. "Worked, didn't it?" Brushing the crumbs off his hands, Tarek says, "You're off the hook for today, but we are gonna talk about this, Joe."

Standing, Joe scrubs at his face with his hands. "I know."

"For now, go take a shower. Because I’m not spending my wedding day looking at your just-fucked hair now that I know who gave it to you."

Joe sprints for the shower like he's been granted a reprieve from the hangman.


	10. everything i’ve got belongs to you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nicky built in a cushion when he’d said “Between eight and quarter past,” to Ellie earlier in the week, and when he rolls up to the house at ten past, he’s incredibly glad for that.
> 
> Instead of the circus he’d been expecting, the house is mostly silent. Mia is in the kitchen, nursing her coffee.
> 
> “So. Nicolò. How’s the thing going?” Oh no, Mia. Don’t do this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so, so much for coming on this ride with me. Thank you for your support and your comments and feedback. ❤️ Every note is like a little hit of sunshine, and if you think I don’t reread every single one all the time, boy do I have news for you.
> 
> There might be a wee epilogue, but it would be posted as a separate fic. Thank you for your patience as I catch up on comments, I’m afraid I got rather more swamped than I thought I would over the last two days.

Nicky built in a cushion when he’d said “Between eight and quarter past,” to Ellie earlier in the week, and when he rolls up to the house at ten past, he’s incredibly glad for that.

Instead of the circus he’d been expecting, the house is mostly silent. Mia is in the kitchen, nursing her coffee.

“So. Nicolò. How’s the thing going?” Oh no, Mia. Don’t do this.

What tips her off? Is it something in his posture? Does he have a stupid grin on his face? He’d been trying so hard to control that. Whatever clues her in, Mia is suddenly staring at him like she’s trying to burn a hole through his chest.

“What did I say? The gift that keeps on giving. What happened?”

“We talked.” The way her eyebrows fly up in surprise, Nicky might as well have said, ‘We landed on Mars.’ He sighs.

“About the--” she gestures in a way that could indicate some kind of interpersonal relationship but could also be a signal for an offsides penalty.

He nods. “I asked about a fresh start, about maybe moving onto something more.”

“Aww, Nicky! It’s like the blue fairy granted your wish to be a real boy!” He flips her off. “What did he say?”

He could tell her how the conversation went word for word, but he’s still processing it a bit himself, and he’s not ready to share it that much. “He said yes.” Nicky watches in silence as Mia brings her mug up to her mouth, then says, “After that, he mostly said my name a lot. And ‘please.’”

Does he feel a little guilty as her spit-take sends coffee spraying across the kitchen island? Yes, but only because it also hit her phone.

When she finishes coughing and blowing her nose and cleaning off her phone, she asks, “And now he’s what? Your boyfriend?”

His mind flips through last night and this morning like a scrapbook. Joe’s face after Nicky kissed him. The touch of Joe’s mouth to the back of Nicky’s neck when he was tying the apron. Joe’s sleepy sweet face in the early morning light. The weight of Joe’s head as he fell asleep on Nicky’s shoulder. His eyes after Nicky said, ‘I didn’t mean now we’re friends who fuck _and_ kiss.’

“I don’t want to put words in his mouth or presume to speak for him.”

She blinks at him for a full five seconds. “Sorry, I was just thinking about you spitting mad in the hall bathroom six months ago. You said he was opinionated, smug, and irritating and that being friends wasn’t an option.”

Nicky picks at the edges of a chip in his mug. “Sometimes the things that make you angriest about someone else are the things you hate most in yourself. We’re alike in a lot of ways, and I think that didn’t help matters.” He sighs, smiling at her as he relaxes his shoulders. “I think we came out the other side, though, and we learned some important things about ourselves. Or at least I did.”

“Does Tarek know?”

Nicky shakes his head. There’s no way Joe would walk into Tarek’s apartment and—Oh damn. He can’t help the grin that curls a corner of his mouth. “If he’s smart.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I just remembered that the shirt Joe borrowed this morning is the one I wore when I stopped by Tarek and Ellie’s last week. Maybe Tarek won’t catch it, but...” Nicky shrugs.

“I love you, Nicolò.”

“You’re not so bad—” his phone vibrates on the counter.

Mia snorts. “Look at your face, Nicky. I don’t even have to ask who that is.”

> _From Joe: did you remember this was the shirt you wore to T &E’s last week?_

Shit. How much crap did Joe catch from his brother? No. Stop. It was an honest mistake. If Joe is upset, they’ll talk about it. He promised.

> _From Nicky: Not until about two minutes ago_

> _From Joe: remind me why i should let u fuck me into the headboard_

Nicky smirks, and Mia rolls her eyes so hard Nicky can see it in his peripheral vision.

> _From Nicky: Like you aren’t half hard thinking about it right now._

> _From Joe: more than half. have fun, tell the girls i said hi_

This little shit. Nicky grins and absolutely does not think about Joe more than half hard. That would be a bad thing to think about right now. In the kitchen. At his mother’s house. With his _sister._ Oh, speaking of his sister—

> _From Nicky: Mia wants to know if you’re my boyfriend now._

The phone is still and silent for just long enough that Nicky starts to consider second-guessing himself.

> _From Joe: is that open to negotiation?_

What? Did Nicky completely misread last night?

> _From Joe: because I’d been hoping for ‘gentleman caller’_
> 
> _From Nicky: Really._

> _From Joe: no? how about ‘suitor?’_

This. Little. Shit _._

> _From Joe: paramour?_

> _From Nicky: I cannot believe I let you put your mouth on my dick_

> _From Joe: the magic has gone out of things already. tell her yes. we can talk later about where you let me put my mouth._

How long has he stood here with a ridiculous grin on his face, brushing the tips of his fingers across his mouth? Long enough for Mia to be nearly biting through her lip, trying not to laugh.

“He says he prefers ‘paramour,’ but we can go with ‘boyfriend’ too.”

Any trace of sarcasm or snark disappears from her face. “Oh, _Nicky._ ” He’s still hugging her when Ellie and his mother come in.

When he turns from putting his mug in the sink, Nicky is struck by a moment of deja vu. Elena, Mia, and his mother are standing around the island, talking quietly as they gear up for the day. It’s so very like the few years that he and his two oldest sisters were going to a different school than the younger siblings and consequently were starting their days earlier. Frequently, they’d find themselves around this same kitchen island in the same arrangement, especially if they’d gotten up and moving before their mother left for work.

“I feel like you should be packing someone’s lunch,” Mia says, and Nicky laughs.

“I had that same thought.” Ellie is looking at the far wall, her eyes not entirely focused. “El, you look like you’re trying to find something to worry about but drawing a blank.”

“The farm has a coordinator who helps out on the day. It’s included in the package. She’s texted me three times this morning to let me know things are taken care of. She even sent me pictures of the flowers so I’d know they were right.”

“Does this mean you’re going to be able to relax and enjoy things?”

“I was always going to enjoy things, Nicolò. But yes, maybe relaxing. We have to be there by three, and Gillian will be here by noon.” Ellie’s roommate from university is their photographer.

“Noon?”

“Some shots of me getting my hair done, and a few family pictures.” Ellie’s got most of her face in her coffee mug.

“Come get me when Gillian gets here,” their mother says. She kisses them each on the head, taking an extra second to stroke Ellie’s hair and whisper something in her ear.

“You too, Mama.”

When they hear her steps reach the top of the stairs, Elena turns to Nicky.

“Hey, I want to say a couple of things.” She slides her hand over his. “First, I really appreciated last night. You guys worked so hard to make the dinner go smoothly. When you said you had it handled, I knew I could trust it would be fine, but that doesn’t mean it was easy.”

When he squeezes her hand, she squeezes back. “It’s what I do.”

“Yes. It is, but I’m still grateful. Just like I’m grateful for everything you’ve done for me my entire life. Especially every boring wedding thing you’ve done with me in the last six months. Particularly given the stuff with you and Joe.”

He bundles her into his arms, kissing her forehead and tucking her under his chin. “You’re very welcome. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

She wraps her arms around his waist, and he thinks for a split second about the first time he’d held her like this, and she was tall enough for him to rest his chin on her head. She’d been sixteen and bulletproof, right in the middle of her wild days, and it was a rare moment of quiet, easy affection in those rough years.

“What was the other thing?”

“Mm?”

“You said you had a couple of things—“

“Oh, right. When were you going to tell me you’re sleeping with the best man?”

Nicky sighs, and Mia, by some miracle, doesn’t say anything.

“I don’t know. Sometime after today?”

She nods, and Nicky knows he’s just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“At least you don’t have to pretend to be his friend anymore.”

“What?”

“Nicky, you may fool the twins and Bianca, but I watched you perfect your technique; I know when you’re lying. You were doing it for my benefit, to keep the peace and make me happy, and I appreciate it more than I can say, but —”

“Yes. Well. We won’t be doing that anymore.”

Mia is shaking she’s laughing so hard. Nicky kicks her in the shin, but it seems to make no difference at all.

“If it helps, you had the rest of them convinced.”

Likely not, but does Ellie need to know that right now? “Well that’s good.”

“Were you waiting to tell me so it wouldn’t interfere with the wedding day?” Nicky nods, and Ellie’s arms tighten around him. “In that case, when it comes time for me to tell you that Tarek and I knew you guys would be good together, I won’t be quite as smug as I planned to be.”

“Thanks, El. That’s very kind of you.” With one last squeeze, he takes her by the shoulders and kisses her on the forehead. “Now, what can I do to make the day better for you, the beautiful bride?”

El smiles and stretches up into the affection like a sunflower. “Will you wake up B and the twins, and will you figure out something for lunch?”

“Consider it done.” On his way out of the room, he waves to his sisters and grabs his mug. This is a day that’s going to require all the coffee he can get.

Olivia and Viola take turns throwing things at him as soon as he says it’s time to get up, and Bianca threatens to reprogram all his electronics, but they all get out of bed eventually. The house gets louder, busier, but Nicky does everything he can to keep the smile on Ellie’s face.

Just after the photographer arrives, Nicky brings in a tray of drinks. “You guys have three options for lunch.”

“Can we each pick a different one?”

“Yes, Bianca, but only today.”

Feeling a bit like a delivery driver, Nicky makes the rounds to four different restaurants (because he’s a giant softie for his sisters) to pick up their meals. Ellie’s given him a short list of things to pick up from the store as well. Just as Nicky’s sliding into the car to come home, his phone buzzes.

> _From Joe: i think T told Ellie about us, so don’t be surprised if she brings it up later_

> _From Nicky: You mean like the polite interrogation I got in Mom’s kitchen this morning?_

> _From Joe: they’re going to be insufferable_
> 
> _From Nicky: We’ll just have to be more insufferable. Have to go deliver lunch._

Nicky signs off with a waving hand emoji. Joe’s reply is a string of emojis that makes precisely no sense when placed together.

Impossibly, Nicky is almost overwhelmed by the urge to find Joe and kiss him for at least an hour. This might be a problem.

During lunch, Nicky watches the photographer flit around his sisters and mother and can’t keep a smile off his face. His mother, in particular, is making Nicky’s heart sing. She’s so happy, watching her daughters laugh, knowing Ellie has chosen someone who loves and respects her as she is, who doesn’t want to change a hair on her head. In the months and years after his father left, she worked so incredibly hard to pull them all through. She worked until she almost dropped, she went back to school, and whenever she could, she still bandaged their scrapes and read them stories. Every chance she got, she was beside Nicky at their games and plays and recitals.

She’s his hero, always has been, and looking at her face, he knows she believes it was all worth it.

Gillian pulls the girls aside for a few shots of just the sisters, and Nicky holds one arm out, waving his mother in. When she steps close enough, he wraps his arm around her shoulders and holds her. “I love you.”

“I know, my Nicolo. I love you, too.” She raises on her tiptoes and kisses his cheek. “Are you going to find a nice boy like Ellie’s?”

A hysterical little laugh bubbles out of Nicky’s throat. “We’ll see, Mama.” He smiles at her and hears a _click_.

Across the room, Gillian grins at them. “Got it,” she says. “Thank you.”

Up in his old room, Nicky dresses for the main event. He can’t make his hair behave, so he tries to compensate by making sure everything is pressed, creased, tucked, buttoned, and tied the way it should be. The tie Ellie picked out for him is a silvery blue, and he does his best to get the corners of the knot razor sharp.

His eye catches on one of the pictures stuck to his corkboard. It’s not one that usually stands out because it hardly seems like the kind of accomplishment that shows up in most of the other snapshots. Nicky, barely more than fifteen, is sitting on the couch, Ellie sitting on a stool in front of him. She’s grimacing like she’s being tortured; Nicky, having never braided anyone’s hair before, has the tip of his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrates. Next to them, Mia is crying with laughter.

It was the first day his mother had been back at work, the first day she’d driven Bianca to daycare, and it meant leaving earlier than she usually would have. Nicky and Mia had offered to help the younger girls get ready, and Nicky’d sworn he would do his fair share.

His braiding got faster; his ponytails got neater and tighter; their morning routine got smoother, they became a team. Eventually, his mother finished school, the girls learned to do their own hair, they got new morning routines, but they stayed a team.

He smiles at the polite tapping on his door. “Come in, Mama.”

“How did you know it was me?”

“Ellie and Mia would’ve just barged in. The younger girls would have said something offensive and _then_ barged in.”

She joins him by the corkboard. “I used to wonder if you wished you had a board like this for your own accomplishments.” What a ridiculous suggestion. “Eventually, I realized this _is_ your board.”

That’s exactly it, and he’d never been sure she understood that. “The girls are the ones who did all those things; I would never take credit for that, but they needed me, and I was there. I was pit crew.”

The laugh lines on his mother’s face deepen, and Nicky knows there will never be anything that makes him feel the way he does when his mother smiles at him. “Support team.”

“Right.”

“You were my support team, too.”

“Yeah, well, you had to put up with me after Mia was born—“

“God you were such a pill.”

“So it was the least I could do. It wasn’t a sacrifice, Mama. I spent hours with my favorite people in the world; we watched movies and laughed and cooked together. I wouldn’t trade that. I wouldn’t trade being part of this team.”

“Those girls know what it means to have support and love and someone to rely on. They know that responsibility doesn’t have to turn you bitter or angry. They know what they’re worth. Maybe no one else will end up with someone the way Ellie has, but if they do, they won’t settle.”

“We’re a good team.”

She squeezes his waist in a hug. “We are.”

“I’m always happy to hug you, but I’m guessing this isn’t why you came in here.”

Her deft, quick fingers straighten his tie, tugging the corners into shape. “Ellie sent me to see if you needed anything.”

“You fixed my tie; that was the only thing I had left to do.” Holding his hands out to his sides, he asks, “How do I look?”

Her smile is a little watery, but her voice is firm. “If you make me cry now, Nicolò, I will never make it through the day.”

Casting about for something to make her laugh, Nicky settles on the thing he uses to amuse himself on gray days. “When Olivia was six, she stuck a Lego in her nose and, thinking back, I can’t absolutely guarantee that one of us got it out. Because I think Mia did, and Mia thinks I did.”

His mother’s smile has always been heartbreakingly beautiful to him. “That explains a lot about Olivia.”

He can hear the girls laughing even out in the hallway, but when Nicky walks through the door, everyone goes silent except for Elena, who bursts into tears. Nicky wraps her into a hug, letting her cry against his jacket.

“I got you wet,” she says.

“It’ll dry.”

“Did I ruin my makeup?” Nicky shakes his head and hands her a tissue.

The rest of the sisters have her fixed up in a few minutes, and he can’t help but smile. “You look perfect.” He doesn’t know anything about dresses, couldn’t properly describe hers if he tried, but he knows she’s practically floating in it. As long as it makes her feel that good, the details don’t matter.

Eventually, once Elena is ready, they make their way to the farm.

From that moment on, there is a little swarm of activity around Elena at all times. Someone always has a question or wants to tell her something or bring her food; a few times, someone puts a glass of something fizzy in her hand, and she always has a grateful smile.

Somehow there are more pictures to take—the girls out on the wide lawn where the chairs are set up for the ceremony. The girls under some trees already decked out in autumn colors. The girls and their mother all trying not to cry. All the di Genovas in a row smiling sweetly. All the di Genovas in a row acting like idiots. Bianca trying to cram leaves down Nicky’s shirt. Nicky holding Bianca upside down.

There are a few with just Ellie and Nicky. One where he whispers into her ear how much he loves her. How he knows things haven’t always been easy, but they’ve always been on the same team, and that’s all they ever needed—another where he reminds her of the story of Olivia and the Lego. Ellie’s smiling with shining eyes in the first picture and howling with laughter in the second.

When Gillian shoos them all back into the building, she says, “I’ll go get the guys.”

“Oh no,” Mia says. “Don’t worry about that. Nicky will go tell them you’re ready.” She turns to look at him. “He’d be happy to, wouldn’t you, Nicky?”

Ellie snickers into her water bottle. Someday, somehow, Nicky’s going to make them both pay for how much they’re enjoying this. “Absolutely,” he says. “I’ll send them right out.” He stares daggers at Mia on his way out. She laughs, not the least bit intimidated.

Nicky raps his knuckle against the door, hoping he’s loud enough to be heard over the laughter in the room. When the door swings open, Tyler’s bright smile greets him.

“Hey! Nicky!” He hauls Nicky through the door and into a back-slapping hug.

Tarek is by the window, trying to figure out how to knot his tie. “Hey man, coming to see how the other half lives?” He winks at Nicky.

“Sure, I just wasn’t expecting this half to be louder than the girls.”

Laughing, Tarek waves Joe over. “Man, come fix me. I thought I remembered how to do this. What’s up, Nicky?”

“Gillian’s ready for you guys outside as soon as you’re ready.”

“Let me get him into this tie,” Joe says.

Up to this point, Nicky’s somehow managed to avoid looking straight at Joe, but that streak is broke the instant Joe starts talking.

_That’s funny, you hear urban legends, but I honestly hadn’t thought spontaneous human combustion was a real thing until now._ Every bit of Nicky’s skin feels like it’s on fire; he wants to touch Joe more than he wants to breathe.

Everyone else is wearing whatever they rented, but Joe—likely because of the fancy fundraising events—owns his own tux. That has to be it. Nothing off the rack would fit like that. His tie matches everyone else’s, a deep wine red, but everything else is tailored for him. The trousers are fitted over his legs and nipped in under his ass. Nicky really didn’t need to be reminded of right now is the reality of what Joe’s thighs look like. His mouth goes dry, watching the shirt pull tight across Joe’s back as he reaches out to fix Tarek’s tie.

With his hair tamed and his beard trimmed, Joe looks like the best filthy dream Nicky’s ever had. He wants to unwrap Joe like a present and not let him out of bed for days. If Nicky’s not careful, he’s going to develop a wildly inappropriate erection. The only saving grace is that his tuxedo trousers are so boxy and ill-fitting, it might be a while before anyone notices.

When Nicky finally meets his eyes, Joe is smiling back at him. “Hey,” he says, and it settles in Nicky’s chest like a promise.

“Hey yourself.”

“Hey to both of you,” Tarek says with an enormous eye roll. “Can you two eye fuck after my tie is finish—“ the last bit is cut off as Joe pulls the tie far too tight.

“I’m sorry, Tarek. You were saying?” Joe’s smile is all sweetness.

“If you strangle me, Ellie’s going to kill you.”

“She’ll probably mess up her nails doing it, too,” Nicky says. “She’ll kill you again just for that.”

“How does she look?” Tarek asks, his eyes wide.

“I’m not saying a word. Just maybe make sure you’ve got a handkerchief stashed somewhere,” Nicky says.

As the groom and his party are filing out of the room, Joe hangs back. He stops next to Nicky, drinking in the sight.

“That should be illegal,” Joe says.

“This coming from you? In that suit?” Nicky’s voice is barely more than a growl. He’s expecting a smartass comment, maybe a suggestion about what Nicky might like to do to Joe in that suit, or a surreptitious ass-grope. What Nicky is _not_ expecting is for Joe, who had fallen apart under Nicky so beautifully and shamelessly the night before, to duck in and kiss him almost shyly.

“You look incredible.”

Nicky can’t resist kissing Joe again, has no intention of even trying. How is his mouth so soft? Cupping Joe’s face, Nicky knows that his fingers will smell like Joe’s beard oil for the rest of the day. It’s going to be the most exquisite torture. “It’s a good thing we’re not next to each other for dinner; I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands to myself.”

“Save me a dance?” Joe asks, and he might as well have opened a trap door and dropped the floor right out from under Nicky’s feet.

“I—Really?”

“Of course.”

“Fast or slow?”

Joe drags his thumb over Nicky’s lower lip. “I think you look like a man with some great ideas, so why don’t you just surprise me?”

Groping for words, Nicky finds none that are right for the moment. He gives up and kisses Joe again, long and deep and just a little filthy.

“I need to go,” Joe says. “But Nicky? For future reference, to avoid any confusion, _this_ is what it looks like when I’m flirting with someone.” He winks and jogs after Tarek and the other men, narrowly escaping Nicky’s grasping fingers.

Watching Joe walk away, Nicky reminds himself that getting caught fucking the best man in a supply closet is probably not the memory he wants to give Ellie today.

For the next hour, things are a blur. The coordinator for the day is a nice lady called Pam, a woman with a sweet smile and a voice like iron, who makes sure they’re all standing in the right place at the right time. Nicky is terrified of her, and she knows it.

When it’s finally time, when Nicky curls Ellie’s hand over his arm, he’s the one close to tears. He blinks, and they spill over. Beside him, Elena sighs, but he can hear the smile in it.

“You always were a weepy bastard,” she says with unmistakable fondness. She passes him a handkerchief and tells him to keep it. “I brought it for you anyway. Thanks for costing me the pool, by the way. I thought you’d at least make it down the aisle.”

“Who bet on me crying before we even got that far?”

“Mia.”

“Not mom?”

“Mom didn’t think you’d make it out of the car before you lost it.”

“You’re the worst family, and I hate you,” Nicky says. Ellie kisses his cheek.

“I know. I feel the same way.”

On the way up the aisle, Nicky concentrates on keeping in step with Ellie. He focuses on his feet, where they’re going, anything but Joe, where he’s standing just behind Tarek.

Nicky knows that, objectively, all those men are attractive, but Joe is in a class by himself.

Just one look, Nicky tells himself. Just one. His gaze darts to the side, and Nicky’s first thought is, “Nope. One was too many.” It’s all he can do to keep walking.

Joe is fidgeting with his cuffs, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, and staring at Nicky. One look was _way_ too many. Physically wresting his eyes from Joe, Nicky brings himself back to the moment. He’s here with Ellie. He’s here _for_ Ellie. Deep breath. That’s better.

At the end of the aisle, Nicky kisses her again and goes to sit next to his mother. Nicky remembers very little of the ceremony itself. In years to come, he’ll only perfectly remember two things. He’ll remember the look on Elena’s face just before Tarek kissed her—luminously, incandescently happy—and that as soon as he sat down, his mother gripped his hand, and she didn’t let him go until El and Tarek were headed back up the aisle.

Once he walks his mother out of the ceremony, all Nicky wants is to find Joe, back him into a corner, and kiss him with all the frustration that’s built up over hours of not getting to touch him, not even getting to look at him openly.

Somehow, impossibly, there are _more_ pictures to be taken. Luckily, Nicky gets to sit these out. He chooses to spend the time leaning against the back wall of the barn, ostensibly watching the entire wedding party being photographed, but really just memorizing every curve of Joe’s body in that tux. With nowhere he’s required to be, Nicky can just sit back and indulge in some recreational leering.

When Gillian tells Joe and Tarek to put their arms around each other’s shoulders, Nicky gets a glimpse of the inside of Joe’s wrist. He has to sit on his hands to keep from getting up and crossing the room so he can brush his thumb over the artery there and feel Joe’s pulse against his skin. Realizing he needs to rein things in a bit, Nicky forces himself to look at something else, anything else. Just before his eyes slide away from Joe, he has one last thought. _I want to make an absolute mess of him and then lick him clean._

At dinner, Nicky manages to keep enough of his brain focused to allow for polite conversation and good manners, but he can feel Joe buzzing at the periphery. Though he doubts she imagined this in her worst-case scenarios, Nicky makes a mental note to send Viola a thank-you card for convincing him to print out his speech, just in case.

Just in case your attention is scrambled by Joe’s nearness. Just in case you can’t think of anything but the look on his face as you rode him. Just in case every part of you is screaming at you to touch him. Just in case.

Ellie is even more radiant in the candlelight. During their dance, he spins her every chance he gets, just to see her face as she laughs. She squeaks with surprise when he dips her. “The guy who taught ballroom dance at university was really hot,” he says, then winks.

Once Nicky spins Ellie back into Tarek’s arms, he pulls his mother out onto the floor. “Don’t dip me like you did Ellie,” she says.

“Are you sure?”

“Nicolò, I will find every naked baby picture of you I have and pull them all out the next time you bring a boy to meet me.” If he’s fortunate, he might never again have to bring a boy home to meet his mother.

“You’re no fun, Mama. Can I spin you at least?” She nods to indicate she’ll allow it, and Nicky spins her in and out of his arms until she’s breathless with laughter. The other sisters all want a turn, and Nicky never could refuse them.

Finally, after what seems like hours, Nicky drops into his chair, catching his breath and watching his family laughing and smiling. Across the dance floor, Joe is smiling at his mother, swaying her gently back and forth whether the music calls for movement or not.

“Hey,” he hears and turns to see that somehow, by some miracle, Ellie’s managed to find ten free seconds to sit.

“Hi married lady.”

She beams at him. “I am, aren’t I?”

“You really are.”

“So. Let a married lady in on the secret. What’s that smile for, Nicky?”

He sighs and gestures with his chin to where Joe is still dancing with his mom.

"Oh," she breathes. Fondly, sweetly with the perfectly restrained joy of a woman wearing a corset who is afraid of puncturing a lung if she jumps up and punches her fist in the air, Ellie says, " _Nicky._ "

“That’s exactly what Mia said.” Meeting her eyes, he shrugs. In the face of Joe's smile, was Nicky supposed to _not_ fall for him?

"Based on the conversation he had with Joe, Tarek said you guys were dating, but—Oh, _Nicky._ " She laughs, great big helpless giggles. "I think Olivia and Viola at least are still convinced you can't stand him at all."

"As it turns out," Nicky says, picking at a loose thread on the tablecloth, staring at Joe. "I like him rather a lot."

"You two were so hard on each other."

He shoots her a half-smile. "We had some things to get through."

"I'm happy for you, Nicky. I haven't seen you smile like that in years." She chews at her lower lip, thinking. "Does Mama know?"

Nicky shakes his head. "No. Things are—they're still new, and I didn't want to say anything to her yet. I especially didn't want to say anything to her today."

"Aw, what's the matter, Nicky? Didn't want the wedding still in the front of her mind when she thinks about you and your new guy? Just promise you'll call me after you do tell her. I want to hear all about it."

Nicky sighs, and Ellie just laughs, pats him on the knee, and kisses his cheek as she flits off to whatever archaic, bizarre wedding ritual is next on her agenda. When Nicky looks back out at the dance floor, Joe is gone. Since he no longer has the best view in the room, Nicky thinks about what he wants next. A drink? Dessert?

Someone sits in the chair behind him, and Nicky suddenly smells Joe's beard oil. A breath ghosts across the side of his neck, and Nicky shivers as Joe says, "You owe me a dance" into his ear.

"I suppose I do."

The song is slow, familiar, but just as Nicky tries to remember the name, Joe steps into his arms. For a second, this, the feeling of Joe, sweet and close, is the only thing in the universe Nicky is sure of. The warmth of Joe's back seeps through the jacket of his suit and into Nicky's palm.

Joe's voice is a soft rumble against Nicky's chest. "I've been looking forward to this all day."

"Me too. How is it for you?"

"Better than I could have hoped." The kiss Joe presses to Nicky's cheek is tender and soft. It's a flawless gem of a moment, made perfect when Joe squeezes Nicky's hand and says, "I know the road we took wasn't the smoothest, but if that's what it took to get here, I'd happily do it all again."

They're quiet for a minute, moving with the music. Nicky has something he's been keeping inside all day. There are other people he might have told—should have told—but it's Joe who makes him feel like now is the right moment to say the words.

"Can I tell you a secret?"

"Of course," Joe says.

Nicky knows he's about to peel a part of himself open, and Joe will be the only one who sees it. Two months ago, this would have felt like jumping off a building. Today, it feels like Joe will be his safe place to land.

"I thought my father might come today. I know Ellie sent him an invitation. I hoped—I hoped the thought of being there to see his daughter get married might be enough for him to at least acknowledge it."

"Did you want him to come?"

Nicky looks at Joe, and the empathy, the care in Joe's eyes, steals his breath. "I honestly don't know."

"You don't need him to be a family, Nicky. Anyone watching you guys today could see that. I'm sorry, Nicky. For all of you. I know what you did for them; I saw all those pictures in your room, I've heard Ellie's stories."

"I loved doing that."

"I know. Which is why they're your family, not his."

As he leans closer, Nicky can hear Olivia's startled gasp from clear across the room, but that doesn't stop him from kissing Joe right there on the dance floor.

"I feel like you should be allowed to share a depressing secret now so that we have an even trade."

The corner of Joe's mouth tugs up into a smile. "The only secret I have worth trading isn't a depressing one."

"Tell me anyway."

"I think I might be a little bit in love with you."

This impossible, incredible man, this man who held Nicky so close that his arms were the first thing Nicky felt as he woke. He can still see Joe leaning against his apartment door, can still taste the sweep of Joe's tongue across his lower lip and feel Joe's fingers twining in his hair.

"That's not a secret."

Joe's smile gets a little wider. "Isn't it?"

Nicky shakes his head. "Not to me." He ducks in for a kiss, overcome by a sudden need to taste Joe's smile. "Besides, I wouldn't trade for that secret; I've already got one just like it."

"Yeah?" A ribbon of hope is threaded through Joe's words, holding them together like they're fragile.

Nicky nods, watching Joe's eyes spark with something like wonder. "Yeah."

Joe's smile is a soft, careful thing, and it seems to bloom from somewhere inside him Nicky's barely seen before. "In that case, I'll let you know when I've thought of a better one to trade."

Nicky rests his forehead against Joe's, pulling their joined hands in to rest against his chest. "I'll be here."

The song isn't long enough, could never be long enough, so they dance straight through another one. Somehow, in the last six months, Joe's gone from being someone Nicky can't stand to someone Nicky can't get enough of. When the music ends, Joe brushes his mouth across Nicky's cheek as he pulls away. It's silly, Joe's only going across the room to talk to his mother, they're going home together tonight, and in the morning, he'll wake up to Joe's smile. Even knowing that Nicky wants to grab him, to keep him right here.

When the dances are over, and the toasts are finished, Nicky helps his mother and sisters round up their stuff and get everything into cars, looking for Joe each time he walks in or out of the building. On the third or fourth trip, he hits his limit on being strangled by his formalwear. He tugs his tie free and pops open the top button of his shirt. When the last of Ellie's things are stuffed into the back of his mother's car, Nicky heads back to the barn, still on the hunt for his—oh god, oh god—boyfriend.

For one thing, Nicky owes him a few more kisses, and they still have to decide where they're spending the night. The only people in the barn are the catering staff clearing away dishes from empty tables. Finding the bartenders, Nicky begs a half-empty bottle of wine, a bottle of water, and two glasses off them.

Joe is sitting at a table just outside the barn's back door, looking out at the night-dark hills beyond. Nicky stops for a second, just to watch him. It looks like Nicky's not the only one frustrated with his tie. Joe's is also hanging loose, his shirt open at the neck. He's draped his jacket over the back of his chair, and his cuffs are rolled up. Nicky's eyes drift across the skin at the hollow of Joe's throat. If Nicky buried his nose in that spot right now, it would smell just the way it had this morning when he'd kissed it, still half-asleep and convinced Joe in his bed might be some kind of dream.

He can see the precise moment Joe realizes Nicky is there. Joe nudges the other chair with his foot, sliding it out as an unspoken invitation. Nicky drops into the offered seat, and for a minute, neither of them says a word. Undoing his cuff links, Nicky pushes his sleeves up. The night air is cool against his skin, his heart is full of the laughter of his sisters and his mother's hugs, and the man he loves is sitting across the table.

It's a moment of quiet magic. Nicky wants to wrap it up and tuck it into his pocket so he can put it somewhere safe when he gets home and relive it when he's feeling low. Taking off his cuff links, Nicky pushes his sleeves up. He pours their drinks and slides the glass of water across the table. The wine is good, but it's nothing compared to the taste of Joe's mouth. Nicky drops his head back, looking up at the star-filled sky.

"That was a nice wedding."

"It was," Joe says. "Food was good."

Nicky nods. "I think my uncle had too much wine and forgot that he's a terrible dancer, but he's the only one who's going to be upset about that."

Joe turns to look at him. "Is he the guy in the blue shirt?"

"With the purple tie, yeah."

"Your mom's brother?"

Nicky nods. "My father's parents passed before any of us were born, and all of his siblings are overseas. I think they sent cards."

They lapse into silence again, content to enjoy the quiet after a busy few days. Eventually, Mia walks by on her way to her car. She stops, taking in the sight of the two of them.

"You guys good?" she asks.

Nicky turns to look at Joe only to find Joe looking back. There's a hint of a smile at the corners of his eyes.

"We're good, Mia." He looks back up at her. "You leaving?"

"Yeah, I'm riding with Viola. Liv and Bianca will go with mom. Lunch tomorrow? I snagged the leftovers from the caterer."

"Sounds good," Nicky says, and it does. She bends to hug him, and he feels her squeeze like she knows how much she'll miss him after she leaves on Monday.

"See you tomorrow," she says as she walks away, her shoes dangling from one finger.

"What are the chances she spent the day randomly making a list of everything she'll do differently if this happens to her.

Nicky snorts. "It won't even get that far. If Mia gets married, it'll be over and done long before any of us know about it."

"Really?"

"Absolutely. She's a hopeless romantic who loathes having a fuss made over her. That's a recipe for a clandestine courthouse wedding."

It's quiet for a minute, each of them lost in his thoughts.

"So, where to from here?" Nicky idly traces the edge of the table with his thumb.

"It doesn't matter to me."

"I meant for tonight."

Joe turns to look at him. "For tonight. For the next night. For as many nights as you want. I just want to be where you are, wherever that is."

His tone is firm, unwavering, as if he wants Nicky to know the truth of what those words aren't saying out loud: 'I'm not leaving unless you tell me to go.'

Nicky hears him perfectly.

"Good. I don't want to know what all those nights are like without you."

Joe grins, and it's like sunshine, even at night. Nicky feels the warmth in his bones. "You must really love me."

"I really do."

Nicky tilts his face up to the sky, clouds move across the moon. Without looking, he reaches out, sliding his hand across the table. For a second, he feels only the cool air of the autumn night brushing across his palm before the reassuring warmth of Joe's skin slides against his, and their fingers twine together.

"Will you still make me soup when I'm sick?"

Nicky smiles up at the stars. "Always."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you as always to [this terrible wretch](https://ceeturnalia.tumblr.com) for being an insanely great cheerleader as always.


End file.
